The wind is fast and high, the ape cries sadly, and the birds are circling in the white sand. The endless trees are rustling leaves, and the Yangtze River is rolling unpredictably. Li in the sad autumn scenery, a wanderer all the year round, lives alone on the high platform in today's illness. Hardness, bitterness, bitterness, heartache and fatigue are a thick layer of dust in my wine.
In this poem, "Zhu () clears the sand and flies back." The initial letter is z for reference.