Reader, who are you? Read my poem in a hundred years.
I can't send you a flower from the wealth of spring, nor can I send you a ray of jinxia from the colorful clouds on the horizon.
Open all the doors as you can.
Collect a fragrant memory that disappeared from colorful villages a hundred years ago.
In your inner joy, you can feel the joy of life. It sings the spring morning and rides through a hundred years with its Tao Ran sound.