Thoughts are wandering and life is short. Wherever I go or live, I am a dreamer.
The silver candle smokes, and the golden urn feast is exotic. When I left the hall, I thought about the piano and took another road around the mountains and rivers.
The bright moon hides tall trees, but the long river knows nothing about the sky. What year will this year be?
There is smoke and water in Lijun, but I still wave my hand and cry for the birds disappearing outside the desolate green hills.
But now, the long river, the lonely sail sailing and the five lakes are shining like spring in the sunset, and along an island covered with duckweeds, it is quiet for communication.