Rain blows into the house, the floor is completely wet. In the midst of the storm and heavy rain, I recite a wet poem:
"Rain lashes and wind rages at the end of March, the door shuts at dusk, unable to keep spring from leaving. With teary eyes I ask the flowers, but they remain silent, chaotic petals fly past the swing."
The courtyard is deep, just how deep is it? Willows spread like mist, as if veiling several layers of curtains. Riding splendid horses around, but with towering pavilions, I can no longer find that once bustling Zhangtai Street.
Rain and fierce wind, in the late spring evening of March, even if the door is closed at dusk, spring cannot be retained. I sadly ask the flowers with tears, but they do not answer, instead flying past like a swing.
May I ask the expert: How does LG feel?
PS: LG = masturbating.