Wild geese fly across the sky, passing the fence, the rice fields yellow like the sea, the layers of forest dyed by dusk.
The yellow leaves are blown by the west wind, aging again, the lingering fragrance still faint on the ground.
Dreams scatter like clouds.
Looking back at the years, how many events, sighing at the world, gatherings and partings like smoke and illusions.
The autumn water is cold, reflecting the lonely shore.
The setting sun at the horizon is slanted, gazing at the vast sky, the frost gradually fills, the heart of return has no place to rest.
Accustomed to watching the joys and sorrows of life, let’s send away all the clear sorrows.
Let the years turn with the wind.
Planning to lean against the slanting sun to listen to the language of the leaves, accompanied by the sparse bell, quietly counting the distant years.
The autumn feeling is heavy, the wine is just warming.
Year of Yisi, August 25th