A robe failed to bind his poetry and distance,
The golden wall of Potala Palace,
Where can I live with the eyes of a thousand dreams?
Although the classics of the years are not what they were,
But the world remembers him as the king of snow.
Is the most beautiful lover in the world.
On that day, the ferry of fate was mighty,
Is there a wisp of wind blowing from the thousand-year-old temple,
Escort him to heaven overnight,
Let all the wet sadness go with the wind,
Only his lingering dream still dances in the old place?
Today, the fallen leaves are singing in the west wind.
I really want to write a poem,
Put it in the mailbox sent to Cangyang Jiacuo,
Ask him about the lost spring,
Where are you wandering now?
I want to know that in the pure soil of Tibet,
Are his dreams and hopes still there?
I don't know the corner against the wind in Lhasa,
Is there any fragrance in his storeroom?
Perhaps, his world has another scene,
Even if the wooden fish makes a sound,
For him, this is also a beautiful swan song.
The rumors of the world will not hurt and bind him.
I want to burn incense for Cangyang Jiacuo,
May there be no more fragments of love in his life.
I want to light a lamp for Cangyang Jiacuo,
May his world be free from the desolation of fallen leaves.
The tattered prayer flags still remember his shallow singing,
How can I approach this sad young man?
Perhaps only by choosing to be a devout pilgrim,
Touch the sadness and sadness in his poems with your heart.