on festive occasions more than ever one thinks of one's dear ones far away
You people from my old country, tell me what happened there! It's plum blossom, when you walk past my window, Han Mei, Warwick.
The foot of my bed is shining with such bright light. Is it frosty already? Looking up, I found it was moonlight, sinking again, and I suddenly remembered home.
Now, near my village and meeting people, I dare not ask a question.
Young people leave home, old people return, and the local accent has not changed.