Until the river bank widens at low tide, and no wind blows my lonely sail.
... night gives way to the ocean of the sun, and the old year melts in freshness.
I can finally send my messenger, the wild goose, back to Luoyang.
-Wang Wan's berth at the foot of Beibao Mountain.
A boat covered with dew floats from the darkness, like a migratory bird on the Yangtze River, rushing about in the season. Beigushan dyed the hair of its branches, lying by the river silently counting the loneliness after Qian Fan's death. A figure standing at the bow looked down at the moon and stars, leaving only a wave of blue spring water, and a faint homesickness surged in my heart.
It began to rain in the distance. On the waterway in spring, the defense lines built on both sides of the strait are falling down step by step, and the quiet water climbs up the banks of the years one by one, filling the stumbling steps of life. The wide water surface smoothed the memory with the fingers of the wind. A solitary sail hangs on the window of the south of the Yangtze River to show the flag to the sky. Who can decipher trembling sign language?
A red sun squeezed a smiling face from the morning fog, and the distant sea was illuminated by a round fireball. Facing the pursuit of light, Ye Can fled into the depths of her dream in a panic. The bright expressions of spring are presented one by one in the sun. An early-maturing peach blossom threw a pink umbrella on the shore in February. Seeds that have been silent for a winter, with a beautiful vision, boldly drove away the withering of the old year.
The geese combed their feathers and set off for the north. On the edge of Luoyang city, will a pair of distant eyes accept these wandering wings? Is the letter at the end of the year now on my father's desk, so that my mother can live a warm and practical life?