Qingming drizzle sends the breeze, and the new grave is accompanied by pine and cypress.
The wilderness is black and heartbroken, and Chishan Cemetery offers a home.
Sad children write poems that stick to the wind and thunder and cherish the memory of their fathers.
Original literature leaves ink and tears, and the soul disappears without a trace.
Second,
I haven't knocked on another house for half a year.
Dreaming all day
It's painful to watch your son under the grave,
Today, I miss my parents and cried a thousand times!
2004-8-27
Third,
In July and a half, the gate of hell opened. Eleven gold medals and twelve silver medals.
Yesterday, on the eleventh day of the seventh lunar month, I felt that I had burned a pack for my father.
Recalling the day when Jia Yan left,
The man kept waving in tears.
When I was a child, I was told not to play with fire.
Burn buns at night to let dark tears flow.
2004-8-26
Dad died in 2004, my original match. So soon, it will be twelve years at once.