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Till, raising my cup, I asked the bright moon, unusual.
Drunk, busy in the dream.
Seek wine into poetry.
Deep sleep can eliminate residual heart damage.
How many literati sing Phoenix and beg for Phoenix?
That endless stream of feelings
Endless poems
Red crisp hands, yellow rice wine
Who is expecting a thousand-year injury for whom?
Drink today, when you can ―― enjoy it.
Who drinks for whom?
It is not the wine that is drunk, but the drinker himself.
Who drinks for whom?
In the light of the moon, it is wrong to leave the goblet idle.
Who speaks for whom, frivolous.
Wine becomes sorrow, acacia becomes tears.
Who stays for whom? The song of homesickness is not over.
Wine intestines pile up with tillers, and poetry is around Kun.
Who fights for whom, sings poetry.
Wine is brewed into poetry.
Mika will remain immortal for a long time.