You don't want it.
Don't celebrate March.
Don't forget the ups and downs.
The wind has been blowing in March, on a cold night in a month.
Gently cut off a piece of clean moonlight and package the fragrant years.
In spring, I picked up a bamboo pen, dipped it in dew on many eyelashes, and wrote a bright label.
Carve a seal of the years, touch the cinnabar in my heart, and cover it with a deep red postmark.
In the wind, with a gentle heart, I sent the memory of March to an unknown distance.
Then, separate the morning and evening from the curtain
Half a window leans against the wind and rain, listening to the flute singing snuff.
Then, put the mood on the shelf.
Hold fast to the pulse of green mountains and green waters, wait for a cloud to roll and relax.
Then, forget the four seasons in your dream.
Stand in the depths of the season and watch a tree blossom.
Then, I banished my thoughts to this world.
Sit quietly in the old days and count the silent years.
……
On a rainy March, on the night when the moon rises.
Salvage a clear moonlight to illuminate the dusty years.
Those years were abandoned and turned into weeds after the rain in March.
Over my body and shoulders, over my forehead and forehead.
I lay there quietly, in a soft and eternal time.
Spring flowers make up the whole mountain.
The spring water flows quietly by.
The mountain wind is swaying in the forest.
The nightingale sings in the depths of the bushes.
Fireflies fly around by starlight.
At this moment, I heard your sonorous footsteps.
Ring in my deep dream.