Shake off the morning dew in full,
Logging sound Tintin glen.
He had put the sickle,
With a basket to carry bamboo fence between fat and fruits.
Autumn perches in the peasant family.
To the cold fog and the round net,
Like the blue bream tallow leaf shadows.
Reed canopy with frost,
Gently shaking be drawn small oar.
Autumn game on the fishing boat.
The countryside was the sound of crickets in more boundless.
Because the mountain stream was more limpid on the stone.
Where the cattle back to the flute,
The full stream of fragrance and warmth at summer night whistle hole?
Autumn sleeps in the shepherdess eyes.