Hand in hand
-dedicated to the old people of the Double Ninth Festival.
A touch of sunset shone into the hut in the twilight.
Illuminated a pair of hands holding hands tightly.
No vows, no promises
Hold it tightly.
We are getting old.
Yes, we are old.
No, we're not getting old.
It is the years that have harvested our diaries.
No, we are old.
That's because vicissitudes have paid too much for us.
I remember that year we had a son.
You work during the day and accompany him at night.
Help him feed soup and rice.
See you suffer.
I cried with love.
Say it quickly. Look, our son smiled.
We all laughed at our lovely son.
I remember that I hurt my leg that year.
You cook with your child in your arms and help me walk every day.
Never say tired.
Look at your thin face.
I secretly shed tears
This is my wife, my wife.
Our life is not rich.
For my son.
We walk like mountains.
Can't stop to have a rest.
My son is in our humble meal.
In our warm smile
He finally grew up.
He is no longer a chicken in front of us.
He flies high.
Yes, he flew away.
My wife, you are a tree.
I am a leaf.
Lean on your back tightly.
You are a mountain in my heart.
I believe in your reliability.
Supporting the bright smile in the sunset.
You are the ceiling.
I wouldn't be hit by the wind and rain.
My wife, you are the garden of my soul.
Even in the severe winter and heat.
You still give me the warmth of spring.
Honey, let's hold hands tightly.
To the sunset, to the afterlife.