This is the light of the rising sun,
A new sunrise,
Is the starting point of life.
Facing the sunshine,
Flowers in full bloom,
The fragrance is overflowing,
Drunk sleeping snake frog,
Drunk bees and butterflies wintering,
Drunk guests enjoying flowers on the pavilion;
With the spring breeze,
Catkin flying all over the sky,
Messed up the feathers of finches,
Messed up the eyes of fish and carp,
Confused a beautiful woman's mood;
With the gentle rain,
There are green weeds everywhere,
Wet the beard of the lamb,
Wet the nest of mice and ants,
Wet the shoes of passers-by
The starting point of life,
Wake up in a hurry,
Pick up a dead wood,
Draw a silent annual ring.
Evaporating the last drop of ice crystals in the sky,
The scorching sun scorched the earth mercilessly,
In the hot sun,
This is a journey of life.
Hot summer is unbearably hot,
Branches and leaves have become tents to drive away the summer heat.
Cool the dog's greedy bones,
Cold cat lazy face,
Cool the fragrant tea on the uncle's table;
The rushing wind,
The weather became hot and dry,
Bend rice's neck,
Bend Michael's waist,
The winding road leads to the family;
Clouds, clouds,
Become restless,
Wet ancient Qin brick,
Wet old hanwa,
Hang clothes at home and get wet.
The journey of life,
Being brutally abused,
Pick a green leaf,
Write down the rippling youth.
Erase the last green in the forest,
The sunset yawned lazily,
Soft afterglow,
This is the whistle of the train of life coming to an end.
On the golden sail,
The foothills changed color,
Maple leaves dyed the whole mountain red,
Pears are dyed yellow between branches,
Dye the old woman's sideburns white;
The breeze blows gently,
Yellow leaves fall all over the sky,
The croak is Qiu Chan,
Sadly, time has been geometric;
The morning frost is silent and white,
Blushed the persimmon's cheek,
Frozen stiff the waist of Chinese cabbage,
Aroused the meditation of an old friend.
The end of life,
Wait at the next stop,
Pick up a fallen leaf,
Carve a bleak sunset.
Dissolve the last flying yellow leaf,
Is the last struggle at sunset,
I reflected the clouds in the western sky,
This is the end of life.
Towards the western sun,
The sky is covered with flying snowflakes,
The earth put on her robe,
Chimonanthus praecox put on a dress,
Under the loess,
That is the bed where he sleeps;
The north wind blows hard,
The pine tree is still standing,
Populus euphratica still shrugged,
Degraded,
Just his rickety body;
Overwhelming buildings,
Go your own way,
You don't have to look for your own trajectory on other people's maps.
Time has brought me to the end,
Life has come to an end,
Everything,
It's just a short period.
I wonder if the end is the beginning,
Who knows,
Who knows?
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