That January, I shook all the prayer tubes, not to cross, but to touch your fingertips;
That year, I kowtowed and climbed on the mountain road, not to see you, but to keep your warmth;
At that time, I turned the landscape into a stupa, not to repair the afterlife, but to meet you on the road;
I close my eyes.
Think of the most beautiful poem you have read for me.
I was addicted to it, but I laughed at your stupidity.
Laugh at your arrogance, laugh at your arrogance
Throughout the ages, how did short-sleeved love form a circle?
But now I regret it.
Flowers are flying all over the sky and white clothes are fluttering.
It was the season when you and I met.
If I can do it again
I want to meet you.
Make wine with your plum wife, crane and plum.
Ps: I'm a science student. I'm a poor writer. Don't shoot if you don't like it!