I once read an ancient poem by a prostitute. The main idea of the poem is that I am tired of living in a brothel and want to get better. Does anyone know what it is?

I don't like dust, but I seem to be mistaken by the frontier. When flowers bloom, you always have to look at the oriental monarch.

If you go, you have to go and live! If you get a mountain flower, Mo Wen will be a slave.

Specific appreciation to encyclopedia, very punctual! ! !