秋雨叹诗歌
you shed the spring's care, wash away the summer's turmoil
it gathers the ageless threads of sorrow, ties them with loose ends
it hangs on your cold, damp window, rests in the shadowed grove of autumn trees

the fall of leaves reveals a hollow beauty, a pale reflection of lost youth
their shadows dance under the moonlit sky, their shapes shift in the stillness of time
they whisper secrets of分离， tell stories of distance beyond the veil of time

the wind carries the scent of decaying flowers with its relentless march
it carries the essence of decay, a song that no one can hear beyond the end of this life
yet you carry it as your own, like a ghost among the surviving leaves

you stretch out your arms wide, offering yourself to the ground at last
you hold onto the night, your breath, your touch, letting the earth know that you are its last word
you offer your soul, your memory, your story in the silence of winter

the wind rustles through the leaves, their rigidity crumbles under the weight of time
but you carry it too, in the same way that a leaf carries its story for so many years
you carry it like a river, its flow still undiminished by the end of this world

you are the sun, the fire, the whispering wind that you never stop to listen to
your presence is always present in the darkness, but it's not only there—there's also your absence

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