Simon in March is still bleak.
When spring comes, I envy flowers.
A wild goose flies in the autumn night.
The Border Wind is both cruel and tragic.
Stuck with condensed clouds and break the Great Northern Wilderness.
Spring breeze blows flowers at will,
The dark insects on the autumn wall ring in the evening.
The trees rustle and you can't feel the spring.
Simon in March is still bleak.
In spring, the spring river is clear,
Autumn eagle snapped the rope on the shelf.