Mr. Liang Qichao wrote a five-character poem for his friend Mang’s father’s fiftieth birthday:
Mang’s father fell to the ground before he started his old plan. Among the three cities of Douhuo, the leader leads one temple. For twenty years, I have been busy covering the border and exploring the small world. A few sparse bamboos.
The stems are densely packed with flowers. There are a few piles of fluffy books and a few pieces of dark ink. Bamboo and stone are sweating, and the seal script is divided into liars. Use the tongue, Kun Yihuang, and bulge the abdomen.
Chili, green onion and black soy sauce. Eat, hold hands, and paint bricks; sleep with horses and ambitions in hand. The school monument is about the beard, and the authenticity of the arms is scrutinized. He was lame when he was feeding, and there was a lot of banter. The heart of a child is full of passion, and the attitude of a slave is wild and wild. Dawn comes and disturbs the mirror. Suddenly fifty has arrived. After all these things happened, I am already old and dying.