"Moon Begonia, Flowing Year"

The passing years are Jinse, and the silk strings are musical, and the spring is over.

Counting the wind and frost a few degrees, the falling flowers gradually faded.

Dreaming back to the tenderness of the past, now it has been made, and the pillow is imprinted.

Outside the window, you can look at it alone, and the mountains are clear.

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Traction. Acacia sleepy, resting pavilion, forestside orchid grass hidden.

Thinking of the clouds goes away, and the moon is full of rhyme.

Relatively acquiescing and speechless, Ren reunited, kneaded into vermilion.

There are thousands of things, but only the sideburns are shocked.

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