Dream too late

The lonely grass and trees are yellow, and the blood is stained with wind and frost.

The back is silent, and the world is not long.

The lake hides Qingjiang tears, and the cheeks are cold and moonlight.

The wind in my heart rose, because my lover was melancholy.

The lamentation was silent, and there was no wound left in vain.

The incense is still there, and the attachment is also greedy.

I want to stop thinking about it, and I don't think about it anymore at night.

It's too late to dream of flowers, and Hongchen is crazy.

Yuehua once sighed, who is indifferent to the years.

29 March 2016

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