Sorrow about August, Lin
The white ducks are swimming in the yellow pond.
Sorghum stalks are just too high, how can this beating heart get in, a narrow road in the field, this sadness in August.
Washed by rain last night, the hills were shadowed by the sun;
The sheep followed the shepherd into the village, and the manhole cover was under a big tree, like a heart!
No one ever said anything in August. Summer has passed, and it is not autumn now.
But when I look at the fields and the melons on the earth wall, I still don't understand how life is related to dreams.