Withered vine
Life is a circle connected with time.
Twisted at the end of danger
The withered autumn turned yellow.
Pull off the rusty wires in turn.
veteran
Ancient trees in the distance
Like a lush heart.
After the autumn wind
There are only a few branches left.
And the sound of a fringed cicada.
Dark crow
A crumbling dusk
Prolong your hoarse voice.
Mixed with provocative ideas
Echo is also inappropriate.
In the moonlight
Cool your bare nest
And my scrawny horse.