The south is a wilderness, because leaves are falling, and the wind from the north makes the water cold. My home is wandering by the river, and the sea of clouds is far away. Tears of homesickness in the journey, see the back of the sail on the horizon.
The smoke in the wind blurs where the ferry can be, and the vast river ripples in the sunset.
Old vines are faint crows, small bridges are flowing, and old roads are thin horses. When the sun sets, heartbroken people are at the end of the world.
I am a lonely stranger in a strange land, and I miss my family more often during the holidays. When I think of my brothers' bodies climbing high, I will feel a little regret for not being able to reach me.
My hometown is far to the east, but I don't want to cry. I will meet you immediately without paper and pen, and I will use your message to report peace.