A beautiful poem about the disappearance of slippers

Those beautiful slippers are gone.

Is to say goodbye to the bedroom with the morning light,

Run to find the morning dew to wash?

It was in the evening and the sun was shining in the sky.

Stroll through the autumn embankment and ask the world quietly?

Or you're hiding, close at hand,

While enjoying my mood—

Beauty is still dragging a leisurely pace.

Or steady or far-sighted

Or cling to the seven or eight rays of afternoon sunshine.

Worship my youth? !

Original, not expected to be adopted.