A copy of Li Yu's "Qing Ping Le"~~ It's half spring, and I feel sad and heartbroken. The fallen plum blossoms are like snow, and they are still full after being brushed.
The news of the arrival of wild geese is unfounded, and the dream of returning home is hard to come by. The hatred of separation is like grass in spring. The further we travel, the more we travel further, the more we travel further, the more we travel further, the more we go, the more distant we will come to make trouble, and we will look around with angry eyes. The remaining letters are like a mess of snow, and they are still full after being brushed all over.
There has been no news recently, and the dormitory is so close that it is difficult to get to it.
Separation from hatred is like tussah silk, longer and thinner but still alive