Thirty years ago.
You look at me from the top of the willow tree
I am young.
Niyuan
People are also round.
Thirty years later.
I look at you from the top of the coconut tree.
You are a glass of country wine.
You are a man.
Homesickness is also full.
When I die,
When I die, bury me in the Yangtze River and Yellow River.
Suddenly, my head was resting, and my white hair was covered with black soil.
In China, the most beautiful and motherly country,
I slept peacefully, on the whole continent,
Listen on both sides. The requiem starts from the Yangtze River and the Yellow River.
Two eternal music, surging and facing the east.
This is the most indulgent and spacious bed.
Let's sleep contentedly and think contentedly,
Once upon a time, there was a young man in China.
Looking west in frozen Michigan,
Want to see the dawn of China through the night,
With the eyes of China who was not embarrassed for seventeen years.
Gluttonous map, from West Lake to Taihu Lake,
Go to Chongqing, where there are many partridges, instead of going home.
homesickness
Ice and snow melt in the warm sunshine.
The grass all over the world is lush.
When the chilly east wind awakens the poet's wine that hurts spring.
The sunset slowly sets with flying flowers.
Forward, forward
I put it off for a long time.
Wandering in the streets of a foreign land
All the faces in a foreign land are cold.
Look at every passer-by in a hurry indifferently.
When endless silk rain weaves into a thin and dense net.
Covering the wandering soul.
Melancholy, melancholy.
I leaned against the shabby door of an inn.
Staring at home from a distance
The dream home is a foggy and rainy village.
The flower cat snored and curled up beside the needle and thread of the loving mother.
When the cuckoo whispers in his ear
It's better to go home.
Cuckoo, Cuckoo.
We are all chess pieces crossing the river.
There is no retreat, no turning back.