Occasional
The vernal window, desolate, though day, I'm too lazy to open.
Having drunk too much, my feelings are cold, ashen.
For the third day I don't light my duck-shaped censer,
lying, listening to the morning rain rustle down a plum.
Having drunk too much, my feelings are cold, ashen.
For the third day I don't light my duck-shaped censer,
lying, listening to the morning rain rustle down a plum.
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