In the cold food festival at dusk in spring, catkins float all over the city.
In front of the tomb by the river, my thoughts fly with the clouds. The past is like running water, and you don't return.
Where were you when the grass fell?
Holding a candle and a glass of tears alone.
I still smell Yao Qinle, and my heart is broken.
A thousand years of loneliness, the years are silent.
The bright moon follows the flowing water, leaving people pregnant tonight.
Birds sing in spring and dawn, return to the boat and leave your arms.
Cold food keeps hatred, and acacia cares.
Time flies, time flies.
Melancholy floats on the ecology, and its beauty is gone forever.
Don't say goodbye when you are busy during the day.
When it is over, I hope to have a new year.