If you are moving forward slowly
The horses are lazy, and the six bridle ropes are full of clouds
If you are moving forward in a hurry
The horses are gentle and the whips are flying
The white flowers bloom in February, you can’t escape, no matter where you are
Rest
You will be captured wherever you are. I keep watch.
If you tell me
how your arms drop, I will tell you
how you will wave again; if you tell me
what you see What is disappearing
I will tell you which one you are