There is an ancient poem about a poet who liked a woman when he was young, but worried that he was not worthy. The man got it and went home to find that the woman was married.

Poetry: On this day last year, in this door, peach blossoms set each other off in red. Today, I came here again. I don't know where the girl went. Only the peach blossoms are still there, smiling in full bloom in the spring breeze.

Last winter, in this door, the girl's face set off a bright peach blossom.

When I came here again today, the girl didn't know where she had gone. Only peach blossoms are still smiling and blooming in the spring breeze.