Climbing the Watergate Building, I saw my late friend Zhang zhen's poem about the Yellow River, which made me excited.
Cui Shu
My friend in the southeastern United States, I have heard of this building. People die with the river, but books stay in the wall.
Stefanie is so secluded that Xie Gong came from afar. At the beginning of the breeze, I sing praises, and in my spare time, I care.
Time and words are ancient, and traces will be silent. Always lonely, empty to see the Yellow River.
Exile will be very late, and the sad thing is already autumn. I dared not ask, so I went boating with tears in my eyes.