Liu Yong's poem "Rain Lin Bell"
Willow is still swaying in the wind, the thick green of the branches is tainted with style, thousands of partings, thousands of nostalgia and reluctance, The branches that break and grow, forget the original intention, forget how to miss, running water and duckweed... The rain wets more than just the memory, the song of departure echoes in the fate of life, drinking to relieve sorrow, three cups and two cups , everyone gets drunk even if the wine is not drunk, forgetting the heartbreak, forgetting how to shed tears, the spring is gone and the smoke is gone... The cicada, screaming wantonly, sheds its shell, a little cold. I am nostalgic for the scenery on the pavilion, but when the rain stops, how can those tears stop? And when the wind stops, how can we put away those thoughts? How should I swallow my memory at night when the cicadas no longer sound? How to express thousands of emotions? Orchid boat is about to leave, but on the shore we look at each other with tears in our eyes forever...I don't want to leave you, I don't want to be apart from you, and I am helpless, but God is not kind, but the dawn wind and the waning moon are not fond of love. Thoughts cannot be sent far away, longing cannot be carried out, tenderness is torn into strands, like falling red pieces withered, lovesickness is like weeping and complaining, the tears are speechless and choked... Since ancient times, sentimental sadness hurts parting, and it is even more embarrassing to stagger in the cold autumn festival. OK, the willow bank of the past, holding hands, gently awakening, the old sleeping dream, gently raising, the figure in the dream... Before I wake up from the wine, I reach out to chase you, but I find that you are far away from me Go; you waved goodbye, I rushed to catch up, but found that you only left your love for me; when I raised my head, the clouds rose, and when I lowered my head, the flowers fell, the morning breeze wiped away my tears, the waning moon melted my heart, and after years of separation, I could not see the return journey, only Hear the dense sound of wind chimes in the rain... The beauty is like a flower and the smile is hidden in the years, and the memory is like smoke flying in the world. Do you hear the rain? Have you heard my thoughts? I know, you heard me. . . .