The seven verses of the poem in memory of the deceased parents are as follows:
1. Thinking about the Qingming Festival
Thinking of the breeze in the wind on the road, and the fragrant snow under the curtain makes the two know each other. In the sound of cuckoos, looking out from the mountain, all I can see is the thin willow silk of the spring river. How much sorrow can you have? Just like a river of spring water flowing eastward. This river is full of spring water! Can my sincere thoughts flow with you to the graves of my parents in Jiashan?
2. Qingming mourning (1)
I have been looking at the floating clouds for decades, and the yin and yang have blocked the sound strings. I should cry out my regrets in long songs, and send poems and notes to Jiuquan from afar.
3. Qingming mourning (2)
It is the Qingming Festival again, when the willows are new and the hills and tombs are covered with dust. The spring river is full of tears, and I can only look at the floating clouds for dozens of springs.
4. A long song
The world is full of clouds, the body is limited, and the mind is open and full of worries. A long song flies to the sky, and the soul of the guest is sent to Yanshan thousands of miles away.
5. It’s spring again in April in the world, and the mournful sounds of strangers are flying into the air. The blossoming white flowers fill the eyes with tears, and the drizzle wets the shoulders. A faint smile floats in my heart, and a vague voice appears in front of my eyes. In the dark night, where Dongjun is blowing, passionate children are accompanied by singing cuckoos.
6. The yellow flags and white grass are deserted, and the smoke and wild stamens are fragrant. I touch the stone tablet with my hand and think endlessly, and look at the tomb with thousands of tears. The smiling face in the high hall is warm in the spring light, and the loving father's loyal words shine brightly in the sun and the moon. I am alone in the melancholy place of Qingming, and the cigarette smoke curls around my heart.
7. During the Qingming Festival, the drizzle continues, and the peach-shaped plum shadows and willow trees are like smoke. There are tears and sorrow in Cangshan Mountain, and the weeds and cuckoos weep silently. Two old loves are buried in bricks and stones, and two relatives are cut off by soul flags. After three glasses of wine, I knelt down sincerely and thought about it long and hard in the blue sky.
8. The cold rain is falling in the far field, and the colorful peaches and apricots are each beautiful. Paper ashes danced in the clouds, and tears flowed down the cheeks. In the dark day, my heart aches, and my mind is tormented by the swaying wild grass. Why do I need wine to remember deeply? Send my thoughts to Jiuquan.