Written in the first person Tianjingsha Qiusi

The old trees are entwined with dead vines, and there are a few crows resting in the trees. Under the small bridge, the water is murmuring, and the colorful sand and stones of the newly withered maple leaves can be clearly seen under the stream. There was a family living by the stream.

On the ancient and silent road, the autumn wind is bleak, and the yellow sand is all over the sky. A tired horse staggered along me. The sun is slowly setting in the west.

At this time, the scenery in front of me was really full of desolation, the vines were withered, and the trees were thousand-year-old. The biting cold wind was blowing wildly. It is a desolate ancient road, and the horse is a weak horse.

I'm a drifter at the end of the world. Faced with such a situation, how can I miss home? That's how it should be.

Withered vines and old trees, crows, small bridges and flowing water, ancient roads west wind and thin horses, the sun sets, and the broken intestines are at the end of the world. The poem is originally in the first person.

Wouldn't it be enough to change "disembowelment" to "me"?

To the west, a remnant sun shot diagonally from the barren mountain, and everything on the ground was covered in a blur of blood.

The autumn wind came at me mercilessly, and at the same time it eroded my soul.

I walked alone in a foreign land, accompanied only by the skinny old horse that I got along with day and night. After many days of wandering, it was already exhausted like me. I staggered forward with it, hoping to spend the night at someone else's house, but there seemed to be no end in sight to the desolate ancient road.

Just like my current state of mind, after today, I don't know if there will be tomorrow, I can only take one step at a time.

I led the old horse to a weeping tree, and when I looked at the few fragile branches that remained, I couldn't help but think of how vibrant it was in the mood for flowers. But now, the old tree in front of me has lost its brilliance and has become dim, and there is no shadow of life in it. The vines that wrapped around it had withered, and it looked so weak that it couldn't help but be windy.

Think about how vigorous its vitality was back then! Because of the tree, how fast it grows and how high it climbs. When it gradually grew old, it could no longer stand the ravages of wind and rain, and could only die silently.

The crow of the crow returning home at dusk broke the silent sky, and although it was a little vibrant, it was monotonous and harsh.

I pulled the old horse and continued to walk forward. I saw a small stream with a thin murmur of water, crystal clear. There was a small wooden bridge over the stream, only a foot wide, with uneven planks and unusually rudimentary.

The stream flowed in a tumbling stream, so free, so joyful, so carefree. Listening to the flowing water, the melancholy mood actually had a faint relief.

A few wisps of light smoke floated from the house in the dim sky, and the smell of rice greeted him. I looked back, and the pale yellow window paper reflected the happy smile of a family of three. Looking back at myself, I was lonely, alone, even if I was accompanied by an old horse, I couldn't reveal a trace of warmth.

My family, but in a distant homeland. Please...

Withered vines, old trees, faint crows.

I've come all the way here, and I'm struggling here; This is my landscape, leaving your world, like a green vine withering and aging. There is no more spreading youth to burn. I am like rain, and you are the migratory bird, which has always been accustomed to sense my arrival and quickly hide; You are like the wind, and I am a drifting cloud, and every fantasy is shattered by meeting you.

I am a vine, always want to entangle my thoughts and love with you, and you are not the majestic old tree, willing to connect with me with the same root, the faint crow that flies away is another expression of you to me small bridge and flowing water.

Thin trickle, clear and clear, twists and turns.

You and I are separated from each other, and the water and the letter are connected. In a few words, how can it be so thoughtful?

The bridges are connected, the friendship is strong, and it is the joy of the eyebrows.

The festive people on both sides of the strait, the house is full of red, how can you be jealous? Guarding the token, where is Nian You?

The stream sustenance of thoughts, running into the distance, day and night. This thought, how can you be so worried?

Ancient road west wind thin horse.

I raised my whip and continued in the footsteps of my previous life. The ruins of the ancient road are still there, and the weeds have covered the way. Looking into the distance, the future is boundless, ** is my home?

The wind was blowing in my hair, as if it had been centuries, so familiar. As the sun sets, stretching my east-facing figure, loneliness is not with me, and the lean horse is bent down to nibble on the vines of the esophagus. Only by firming up my pace can I look for your dawn in the direction of the wind.

The sun is setting, and the heartbroken man is at the end of the world.

The sunset is so beautiful, yet so short. Just like life, it is short and beautiful. Sometimes people can grasp and control everything, but only emotions control people.

What is love, what is love? Because there is no answer, go and look for it. The person who found the answer, but his liver and intestines were broken, drifting to other places, until he was lonely and old, but he still said that ageless love.

How many points do you have to score for someone to waste so many brain cells for you?