Climbing high
Du Fu
The wind is strong, the ape is screaming in mourning, and the white bird is flying back from the clear sand in Zhugong.
Boundless falling trees rustle, and the endless Yangtze River rolls by.
Wanli is always a guest in the sad autumn, and he has been sick for hundreds of years and only appears on the stage.
Hard and bitter, I hate the frost on my temples, and my new wine glass becomes muddy.