Author: Zheng Chouyu
I walked through Jiangnan.
The appearance in the season is like the opening and falling of lotus flowers.
If the east wind does not come, catkins will not fly in March.
Your heart is a small lonely city.
Like a bluestone street facing the night.
Footsteps don't ring, and the curtain doesn't open in March.
Your heart is a small closed window.
My hooves were a beautiful mistake.
I am not a returnee, I am a passer-by.