Standing up, I suddenly felt that I was sitting on the hill.
Pierce the body and sting the cold heart.
Wind, raise my arm.
Pull down the veil of the sky, rain
With snow particles, slapping my face.
All day, I shouted at the bleak voice.
Scold me: the hoof of the Year of the Sheep
I have stepped on the shoulder of the Year of the Monkey.
It's all over the floor, on leaves that are yellower than gold.
I don't know how many to plant, spring dream.
How many lines can I write in Xia's poems?
I don't know, but what percentage of autumn rations have I received?
The belly of the earth is no longer soft, and the northwest wind
Twist my nose bone and make my chest
The cracked and cold lung leaves make me feel confused.
Cold smoke mood is very dull, two eyes rolling around.
One went to the moon and the other to Dongyang.
Looking at the black and white of benevolence, I have aged the time.