In the vast sea of people, there is a state of mind called desolation, and there is an emotion called sadness.
Endless fallen leaves drift in the cold wind, and the chill hits the face.
The attack of the wind and snow brought a sad melody.
Time flies by like flowing water, and I write the traces of time with my pen.
The dream of winter, dyed by the wind and frost condensed by the ten fingers.
I walked on the Saibei Wasteland and watched the snow cover the Longshan Mountain.
Draw a page of pure chapter, the heart is as pure as snow, sprinkle the poetry of the ground, and listen to Zen alone.
Standing on the first line of the love letter, you and I have already felt the pain of our hearts, and every word evokes endless memories of the past, bringing a vague and desolate feeling.
My brushstrokes depict the beauty of the wind and the moon, but the final signature is full of sadness.
Thousands of years of prosperity are like water flowing eastward, and thousands of dead leaves are swept with the west wind.
Those people and things in the past have put on the coat of wind and snow, evoking the desolation of a season.
A glass of wine that intoxicated me in this season, a snowfall that added poignancy to the cold winter.
For the first time, I stood alone in front of the window, listening to the sound of snowflakes, making a cup of tea in the dusk, and enjoying the warm lights.
The wind and snow in the old garden are another year, and time is like a gentle satin, falling on me gently.
For the first time, I filled a silver bowl with drifting snow, and in the appearance of that winter, I offered it to a lake on the causeway, gazing lonely at the indifference of the middle of the lake.
I know that even in the snowstorm that comes late, I can enjoy a glass of wine.
The clear liquor can boil my thoughts, and the pure heart has opened the plum blossoms in my heart.
Despite the enthusiasm of a teenager in my heart, man is no longer young. There are endless stories in the distance, and I read the sorrow in front of the window.
Every life has its own shining light, however, inadvertently, we often let our dreams become desolate.
Youth is fleeting, prosperity is easy to wither.
Let's keep a tenderness and warm the remnants of memory.
The autumn water flowed into the Song Ci in a crooked manner, and the cold winter started from the wind and snow, embarking on a desolate journey at the end of the year.
The green silk in the ears was dyed by the wind and frost, and the moonlight outside the window warmed the heart faintly.
I played a song of sadness in my heart, the deep and simple melody, echoing in the loneliness of the end of the world, drinking wine, warming my heart.
Thousands of years of prosperity are like water passing away, and thousands of dead leaves dance with the wind.
No longer thinking about the past, no longer fearing the rest of your life, there is no dust in your heart, only listening to the snowflakes falling from Zen.
These are the traces of time, condensed between the words and flowing in the heart.
Let's use modern vocabulary to reexpress our reflections on the passage of time and memory, and to create poems of our own time.
Is it snowing in your city?