Poetry complaining about the weather

The night will be over, I lie in bed listening to the sound of wind and rain, in a daze in my dream, riding an armored horse across the frozen river to the northern battlefield.

A drizzling rain falls like tears on the Mourning Day; The mourner's heart is going to break on his way.

Autumn rain sends acacia, old phoenix tree, a little cold awn through the bamboo window. Quiet night caresses the heart, the city is green and deep, and there is a little sadness everywhere.

There were 480 temples in the Southern Dynasties. How many towers were there in the misty rain?

The mountains and rivers are broken and the wind is floating, and life experiences are ups and downs.