where petals have been shed like tears, and lonely birds have sung their grief.
after the war-fires of three months, one message from home is worth a ton of gold.
I stroke my white hair. It has grown too thin, to hold the hairpins any more.
guó pò shān hé zài ，chéng chūn cǎo mù shēn 。
gǎn shí huā jiàn lèi ，hèn bié niǎo jīng xīn 。
fēng huǒ lián sān yuè ，jiā shū dǐ wàn jīn 。
bái tóu sāo gèng duǎn ，hún yù bú shèng zān 。