Above, he looked for the green void, below, the yellow spring, but he didn't find the one he was looking for in two places.
I don't know, I wrote it myself:
From the edge to the depth, the edge is illusory and shallow, and the shallow memory is full of smoke and haze. The stars are falling and the cold wind is blowing.
Love turns pale in the depths, but watch the drizzle blow obliquely. Catkin falls, hate parting.
Hope to adopt