The sky is covered with rain, and I feel melancholy during the Qingming Festival. The cool breeze in the suburbs breaks my heart, chrysanthemums bloom all over the ground, my clothes are filled with tears when I visit my ancestors' tombs, and I burn incense in my sincere condolences. The smoke fills up to heaven and bless the deceased with eternal health.
The fragrant petals are placed on the memorial platform, and the martyrs are not buried in splendor. Donate yourself at the critical moment of life and death, and always fight at the highest level. I have never failed in my lofty mission, and my broad mind is only given to me. The fallen pagoda lingers in the air, and the spring breeze sweeps away the gloom.
Relatives may still be sad, but others have also sung. What's the point of dying? It's like holding your body up to the same mountain! The deep red blood color of our ancestors has also faded, and the tear stains of our descendants are hard to find. What remains today are only clean monuments and towering ancient trees.
The deceased has passed away, but the living remain the same. Grasping the moment is the greatest tribute to the deceased; living happily is the greatest respect for life.