Facing the rain from the sky, a piece of washed autumn scenery on the river is particularly cold. The bleak frost wind is tight, the river surface of the mountains and rivers is deserted, and the setting sun shines on the tall buildings. Red flowers wither everywhere, and all the beautiful scenery gradually disappears. Only the surging Yangtze River flows eastward silently. Without the heart to climb the distance and overlook the distant home, it is difficult to gather the desire to go home. Sighing for years, what's the matter?