A poem that describes time that is short but passes slowly
The lonely pillow and brocade clothes are cold, and the night and moon are even longer.
Tomorrow comes tomorrow, there are so many tomorrows! If I live waiting for tomorrow, everything will be wasted. Everyone in the world is tired of tomorrow, as spring passes and autumn comes, old age is approaching. In the morning I watch the water flowing eastward, and in the evening I watch the sun setting in the west. What will tomorrow be like in a hundred years? Please listen to my song of tomorrow.
After parting ways, the two places thought about each other. They only said that it was March and April, but who knew it was five or six years ago.