蟾宮月下男生

The dust of my coat presses down on the saddle, the whips are tired of curling reed flowers, the bows and arrows whistle, and I enter the haze, moving my arms, the west wind and millet, the autumn water, thousands of dots, the old tree jackdaws, three lines and two lines, write the long sky calendar, Wild geese are falling on the flat sand, on the west side of the curved bank, fishing with nets and poles near the inlet, on the east wall of the broken bridge, and on the mountain beside the stream, there are people living in bamboo fences and huts. You can see mountains and valleys full of red leaves and yellow flowers. It is a desolate time, and people are far away from home.

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