Wait for the twilight neon,
No, no, no.
Autumn dyeing maple leaves are withering again,
Still not seen, not seen you coming.
How much has the moonlight of the lotus pond looked like?
The handwriting carved from the old tree had been wiped away by the wind.
Waiting for every inch of daylight at dawn,
The hessing of the covered bridge, the wandering of the moonlight,
It's not that you don't see, it's that you don't come.
Waiting for the wind to bring the flowers whispering,
What awaits is the fading smile in the memory.
Waiting for the once ignorant obsessive red face,
I don't see the redness of my sideburns at first,
No, no.
2017-09-06 09:30:42
