When you are old, white-haired, sleepy and dozing by the fire, please take this poem down and read it slowly, recalling the tenderness of your past eyes and their heavy shadows; How many people love the beauty, hypocrisy or sincerity of adore you when you are young and happy? Only one person loves your pilgrim soul and the painful wrinkles on your aging face. He hung his head and whispered sadly about the disappearance of love by the red fire. On the mountain overhead, he walked slowly, hiding his face among a group of stars. This version rhymes fluently.
?
? When you are old, white-haired, sleepy and dozing by the fire, please write a poem and recall that you once had gentle eyes with a few shadows in them. How many people love you when you are young and beautiful? It is hard to tell whether it is true or false, but they are just tempted by your beauty. Only one person deeply loves your soul and your holiness. There are painful wrinkles on the aging face, looking back at the red stove, telling sadly how love slipped away, ran to the mountains above, and then hid her face in the starry sky.