Lying on the windowsill, looking at the pool of withered lotus flowers, telling her once brilliant life in the rain-just once. Now, they are just a group of beautiful women who have lost their faces in the pool.
.
That's all.
Bean-sized raindrops hit the slightly yellow lotus leaf. "Da, da ..." Crisp and sweet.
The raindrops hit the lotus leaf drop by drop and gathered in the center of the lotus leaf. When the lotus leaf is full, it leans to one side, and the bright rain like jade dew pours out obliquely.
The rain hasn't abated.
The falling rain drops on the withered lotus, giving off a unique charm and a patchwork sound. Looking back on that year, Li Shangyin looked at a pool of withered lotus, listened to the sound of rain, recalled his life experience of leaving early and returning late, and sang "Autumn frost flies late, leaving withered lotus to listen to the sound of rain." The sound of rain is not only the rhythm of nature, but also the loneliness of the poet staying in a foreign land.
After the rain subsided, the bean-sized raindrops turned into thin raindrops and formed a thin layer of fog on the lake.
Reaching out leisurely, fingertips touching the drizzle.
No smile.
As long as time is not old.