The ancient poem "Spring Hope" was expanded to 1. Chang 'an, the capital, was captured by rebels and became desolate and dilapidated, but the rivers and mountains remained. Spring has come, but the city is more desolate. There were bodies everywhere, and I couldn't help crying. How prosperous was the Tang Dynasty? Will it stay in the depths of history forever? Is the femme fatale really as the world expected? The sun shines on the face, cold as ice, spring breeze blows on the face, and death hurts like a knife.
In spring, flowers bloom and fall, birds are singing and flowers are fragrant. But this year, spring seems to come very late, without the vitality of the past, but it adds a bit of death. Flowers are still developing and birds are still singing. But my heart is always restless and I always want to have a good cry. But what's the use?
The war is still to be fought, and the bitter days are still to be lived. How I miss my relatives in my hometown! How are they now? At this time of constant war, a letter from home is so precious.
Sad! The white hair on my head is getting less and less, and I can't insert the hairpin.
Tears welled up in my eyes and my blood was boiling. When can I settle down?
As I wrote in my poem:
Chang' an fell, the country was broken, and only the mountains and rivers remained; Spring has come, and the sparsely populated Chang' an city is densely forested.
The war lasted for more than half a year, and letters from home were rare, with a hundred thousand gold.
Sad state, can not help but burst into tears, amazing birds, leaving sorrow and hate.
Twisting with melancholy, scratching my head and thinking, the more I scratch my white hair, I can hardly insert a hairpin.
Don't! I can't be discouraged, I have to wait, I have to wait! Until Datang regrouped and knew that Du Fu had returned to his hometown, until I was reunited with my family! I seem to see the dawn and hope!
But what am I? A poor poet, a down and out prisoner! I wonder if there will be a second one after this point. When will blood feud come in handy?
The second expansion of the ancient poem Spring Hope: Tears, Emotions and Sadness
The sky is overcast, the weather seems to be comparable to frost, and gray rain spots hit people's heads. Standing on this bare hill, I saw the scene in front of me-it was so gloomy and cold, as if people felt that there was only endless emptiness above the gray sky. So, I bowed my head and sighed, but I saw a listless wild flower, bowed my head, bent down, shed tears and sighed. The soil on one side is as dry as pine bark, but it is still struggling on the edge of the endless valley of death. Why are you crying? Why fight? Just because the country has been scattered, I feel that I am crying because of current events! I want to block my ears! Because I don't want to hear birds singing with nowhere to run. It was a sad and mysterious sound, like the bell of death ringing, with a sense of rhythm and urgency.
A cool breeze, like a low tune, tore all my emotions. The wind, whether you have heart-rending pain or screaming at the top of your lungs, is gnawing at it and seems to destroy everything I have. My relatives and friends are far away, thousands of miles away from me. Can they hear the cruel howling of the wind? Have they received my letter from home? Perhaps, the letter from home has drifted to the boundless sky with the smoke of war, or it has been bitten by the ruthless wind and refused to let go. However, why doesn't it also devour my bitter emotions?
And then what? So that I can indulge myself in this desolate and sad early February spring.
The maple forest is dyed and the autumn leaves fall. When can I see my relatives and friends? I'm afraid the mountains will stop us. Sorrow is like late autumn, and sorrow is like thick hair, which is countless. Now even the hair is shaved short, and even the hair clasp can't be inserted.
The unfolding of the ancient poem "Spring Hope" is another spring day, flowers are still blooming heartily, and birds are still singing happily.
However, flowers do not bloom in flowerpots of dignitaries, but grow in collapsed houses; Birds don't fly on the heads of good people, but on the bones of the roadside. Is this still the beautiful and prosperous Chang 'an? Right? Every grass and tree has the shadow of that powerful dynasty. Oh, no, the old scene of birds singing and flowers singing and tourists lingering is gone. Looking at the destroyed city, the poet stretched out his hand as if to grab something. Is it the distant past or the shadow of "Kaiyuan Shi Sheng"? Beside a fallen beam, there is a small flower. Timid, as if the wind blows and you will die young. Isn't it just like the Tang Dynasty now? A drop or two of water falls on its petals, then slides down to this land and blends into it. No, that's not a drop of water, that's the poet's sorrow. The cries of birds shook the poet's heart. How are the wife and children at home now? The bonfire symbolizing war has been burning for more than half a year. How many people have lost their homes, how many children have lost their fathers and how many wives have lost their husbands? For a time, I missed my family like a tide. How long has it been since the poet heard from his family? If we can know the living conditions of our loved ones and see their letters from home, it will be two thousand pieces of gold, which is not as happy as that. The poet scratched his white hair sadly, and it lost several strands.
The poet smiled bitterly. In the future, I'm afraid I won't be able to insert the hair clasp. Then he looked at the depression in front of him, the broken Chang 'an, and the poet sighed again.