Funeral songs
Flowers wither and fly, flying all over the sky; Their flowers are gone, and their perfume is gone, but who still sympathizes with them? You can see the wandering hairspring on the pavilion, and the falling catkins are stained with faint dew and hit the embroidered screen. A girl is in the inner room, and I mourn the end of spring. The veil of sadness binds my heart and there is no comfort. I walked into the garden and turned to use my hoe. When I came and went lightly, I stepped on the fallen glory. There are willow branches and elm flowers, which have enough fragrance. I don't care if peaches and plums are stripped from every branch. Peach and plum trees may bloom again next year, but next year, in the inner room, tell me, will I stay? In the third month, the new fragrant nest will see the light of day, and new swallows will fly between the beams and go their separate ways. Next year, they will look for food among colorful flowers again, but I'm leaving, and Liang Mu is leaving, and they will swallow the gazebo together. There are 360 days in a year, in which wind daggers and frost swords lurk to do their cruel work. How long can the brighter and brighter beautiful flowers last? One morning, its petals floated away, but no one knew where they had gone. Bright buds attract people's attention, but when they wither, people can't see them; Oh, let me bury them sadly by these steps tonight. Alone, invisible, I grabbed my hoe and shed many painful tears; They landed on the bare trunk and there was blood. The nighthawk stopped whining now, and the dawn came quickly. I grabbed the hoe, closed the door and left the cemetery. But it wasn't until the sun flooded the walls that sleep soothed my worries. When I was lying there shivering, the cold rain pattered on the window pane. You are surprised to find that my young cheeks are wet with tears; They come partly from angry thoughts and partly from regrets. Regret that spring came suddenly; And anger, it can't last. There is no sound to announce its arrival or to warn us when it passes by. I vaguely heard sad songs in the garden last night. I know, they were sung by elves, flowers and birds. We can't leave them with us. These beloved birds and flowers only sing in one season and bloom for only a few hours. I wish I could plug in feathered wings, soar in the sky and find a room in the sky with the flower elves. But what graves are there in the air? No, give me an embroidered bag to hold their charm. Mother Earth, a pure mother Earth, will hide them in her arms. Therefore, those spotless sweet bodies will leave again spotlessly, and will not flow away along the dirty sewer with dirt and filth. Farewell, dear flower, forever, so buried, I don't know when I will sink into rest with you. Who can bury flowers like this will become a laughing stock; I don't know what kind of hands will bury me in the future. Look at how every blooming flower fades when spring begins to die; Beautiful girls sometimes get old and die; When the short spring passed, the beautiful days passed, the flowers withered and the lovely girl died, neither of them was known.
homesickness
The song of hometown is a pure and distant flute.
It always rings at night with the moon.
The appearance of hometown is actually a vague indifference.
Waving in the fog, as if leaves were leaving.
After leaving
Nostalgia is a tree without rings.
Never die of old age