Song of Burying Flowers When the flowers fade and the flowers fly all over the sky, who will pity them when the red color disappears and the fragrance disappears? The soft hairspring is tied to the floating spring pavilion, and the fallen catkins lightly touch the embroidered curtain. The daughter in the boudoir cherishes the twilight of spring, full of sorrow and nowhere to complain. Hands hoe the flowers out of the embroidered curtain, and endure the falling flowers as they come and go. Willow silk and elm pods are fragrant, regardless of peach blossoms and Li Fei. The peaches and plums will bloom again next year. Who will be in my boudoir next year? The incense nest has been built in March, the swallows in the beams are so ruthless! Although you can peck at the flowers next year, you won’t be able to leave your empty nest alone. Three hundred and sixty days a year, the wind, the sword, the frost, the sword force each other. How long can the bright and fresh beauty last? Once wandering, it is hard to find. Flowers are easy to see when they are in bloom but hard to find when they are gone. The person who buries the flowers is killed in front of the steps. I secretly shed tears while hoeing the flowers alone, and sprinkled the empty branches with traces of blood. The cuckoo is speechless at dusk, and the hoe returns to cover the heavy door. The green lantern shines on the wall, and the person is sleeping for the first time, while the cold rain hits the window and the quilt is not yet warm. Strange things happened that were doubly distressing, half pity for spring and half annoyance for spring. Lian Chun comes and goes, anger comes and goes, and comes and goes without words. There was a sad song outside the court last night. Did you know it was the spirit of a flower or a bird? The soul of a flower is hard to retain as the soul of a bird. The bird is speechless and the flower is ashamed. May I have wings under my wings and fly with the flowers to the end of the sky. Where is the fragrant hill at the end of the sky? It is not like a brocade bag to collect beautiful bones, but a handful of pure soil to cover up the wind. It is better to come and go clean than to be trapped in filthy ditches. If you die now, you will be buried. Who knows when you will be buried? People who bury flowers today are laughing like idiots, but who do you know who they will bury next year? Just look at the spring flowers gradually falling, it is the time when the beauty dies of old age.
Once the spring is gone, the beauty will grow old, and the flowers will fall and people will die without knowing it!
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