I once saw a poem, and the last sentence seemed to be, "From now on, I raise my glass every night, far away to the year when I was seventeen.
"Who knows the name of this prose poem?

It is Xi Murong's "Sixteen-year-old Flower Season"

The original poem is as follows:

Wake up in a strange city

Lip I still have your name in my heart

My love, I am thousands of miles away from you

I also know

The flowers bloom only once at the age of sixteen

But I still care about the whiteness of the skirt

I care about everything that is praised

The feeling of being pampered and comforted

I care about the golden dream The net

shields me from the wind and frost in a foreign land

Love turns out to be a kind of wine

After drinking it, it turns into longing

And in In a strange city

I raise a glass every night

Looking towards the year when I was sixteen

I once saw a poem, and the last sentence seemed to be, "From now on, I raise my glass every night, far away to the year when I was seventeen."Who knows the name of this prose poem?