Interpretation of the vernacular: The two died for a lifetime and were isolated for ten years. They miss each other but are at a loss and can't meet each other. I don't want to miss myself, but I can't forget it. His wife's lonely grave is thousands of miles away, and there is no place to tell her sadness. Even if we meet, we shouldn't know each other, because I'm running around, dusty and cold.
At night, I suddenly returned to my hometown in a vague dream, only to see my wife dressing up in front of the mirror in the small window. The two men looked at each other, and they didn't know where to start with a thousand words, only tears fell thousands of lines in relative silence. It stands to reason that the grave mountain with the bright moon and small pine trees is where I miss my wife every year.