If you want to find a high place, lean on the dangerous fence
Look at the old weeping poplar tree in the wind
──Shen Yinmo
All hissing on the oak branches ,
I want to use my green and white hands
to pick up all the remaining leaves,
to complete the work of the cold winter;
As for people,
Haunted by old and bitter memories,
Dejected and ready to die,
Histing on the oak branches,
It is always the teasing of fools,
The flattering smile of the unkind,
On the far coast
The loving mother bends her knees and stretches out her hands and screams wildly,
Tears drift away with the waves
Moisten the lips of his lost son?
They all hissed on the oak branches,
Meng Langdi brought the returning geese,
Their feathers changed in my homeland,
Left ruined on the river bank,
No one paid attention to this poetic meaning,
Because they went and came back again.
Histing on the oak branches,
He asked me again if I had ever had the grand party of my childhood again!
I have lost the warm sunshine on my back,
the winding paths along which the herds of animals have climbed,
the patches of snowflakes here,
It left countless scars on my heart.
It is all hissing on the oak branches,
Your voice is too monotonous and lazy,
It only makes me feel sorry for the noise,
And the harmony of thought and joy,
The waxing and waning of light and darkness,
Only God can give me an answer.
It all hisses on the oak branches,
The night finally covers my eyes,
I look deeply at the sound of the new moon bell here,
And the sound of the stream,
Give you a little parting sadness,
Then escape to infinity forever - no chance of coming back!