Metaphor is a poem. In this poem, when you are tired all your life but dying, you get nothing.

Silkworms in spring will weave until they die, and candles will drain the wick every night.

Long-term tourism mountain ze, wild forest entertainment.

Try to take your son and nephew and put them in the wild market.

Wandering among the mountains, Yiyi lives in the past;

There are remnants in the well, and the mulberry and bamboo rot.

I would like to ask the wage earners: "What about this person?"

The wage earners told me that "there is no rest after death".

I've really lived in a different place all my life.

Life seems illusory, and eventually it will be empty.

Alone in a sense of loss, I returned to my hometown with a staff member. The road was bumpy and in shock.

The mountain stream is shallow and meets my feet.

Filter out the new wine at home and cook chicken for the neighbors.

When the sun sets, the candle is lit instead.

The height is high and the height is short, and the east is getting white.