I capture old and young words.
I saw the old wall,
There are mottled and picturesque words,
Driven by life,
Jump and fly in front of your eyes.
Words that are reduced to hieroglyphics,
Like the sun, like the moon, like birds, like horses,
They are all mysterious pictures.
Carved on stones, danced,
Cast on a bronze tripod is a call,
Write on bamboo slips and sing songs.
The words of a painting,
Not afraid of overeating, braving the wind and waves,
Flowing into exquisite patterns
From dormant to flying, showing the vicissitudes of history,
The resurrection of ancient legends.
I capture old and young words,
Constantly arranging and combining,
Woven into stories, poems and songs,
Every word is a spark of wisdom.