"After a farewell, the two places are separated. Although it is March and April, who knows five or six years. There is no heart to play the lyre, the eight-line script cannot be passed down, the nine-link chain is broken from it, and the gaze of the ten-mile long pavilion is about to penetrate. Hundreds of miles long pavilion. Thoughts, countless thoughts, endless words, endless boredom, climbing high to watch the geese, the moon is full in August and half of July, I hold candles and burn incense to ask the sky, the dog days of June are coming. Shaking the fan makes me feel cold. In May, the pomegranates are like water, but the cold rain water them. In April, the loquats are not yet yellow, and I want to look at the mirror in a hurry. In March, the peach blossoms are drifting with the water, and in February. The kite string is broken. Hey, Lang, I wish that in the next life, you would be a girl and I would be a boy.
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Do you think this is a digital poem written by Zhuo Wenjun to Sima Xiangru?