The wind is light and the clouds are light. Like Li Houzhu's "Locking the Melancholy of Clear Autumn", I am accompanied by "Lonely Indus" in "Deep Courtyard". It was a gentle afternoon, and you could see a dazzling scenery from the windowsill.
Nod your head. Why hasn't she come yet?
It is already late autumn, but there is still some warmth in the wind, because she is coming. Her figure is an elegant poem, which makes me intoxicated. Her little smile, like a fresh poem, fascinated me. Light little steps, flying dresses, flowing hair-I believe she is poetic, and she is the only color in this varied monotony.
I believe she is not cold, this is her poetic rhyme.
At the end of the distant eyes, finally, a touch of red appeared! That's the color I long for. In the faint back, she is particularly out of line. Dance and spin. In their surprised or pitying eyes, it affected me. It's getting closer. Oh! It's really her. Even the blowing wind followed the red poem. She hovered in the crowd, or jumped, or paused, or crazy-so elegant, it was a unique poem, rendering my monotonous heart. It's like being splashed with red, and my heart beats for her! but ...
I always thought I could read this poem every day. But there are not many leaves on the tree.
On that day, people were wrapped in thick films, and snowflakes all over the sky dyed my sky white. There is a lot of white snow on her clothes, so thick and heavy. ...
My poem, left a pause. It seems that it is only half done, and it is not over. She left, leaving only a poem, telling me-