The north wind blows clouds, and Wan Li crosses the river. When the mood falls, the autumn sound can't be heard.
The sorrow of the Yangtze River has stagnated, and Wan Li's thoughts will return. The condition is that it is windy late at night, and the yellow leaves all over the mountains are dying.
Wine has no entrance, but it turns into bitter tears. I know what it's like to sleep alone. This bitter waiting is still far away, although it is a long time, there is no way to escape.
Sitting alone is sad and white, and the autumn night sky is nearly two more. Wild fruits in the mountains fall in the autumn rain, and insects on the grass whisper to the lights. The white hair on the head is always difficult to turn black, and there is no panacea in alchemy. To know how to get rid of senility, only learning Buddhism can't be destroyed.
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