The morning glories are blooming, as if they are blowing countless small trumpets (as if they are blowing horns in the tears of struggle). The moonlight shines on the ground, as if covered with a thin silver gauze (I really want to spread the cold Cold frost) When I am not with my parents, there seems to be countless loneliness and loneliness (like a heartbroken wanderer under the sunset). The little parrot in the cage is like a prisoner in the cage (like a little angel longing for freedom)