The corner where I once stayed.
I lived in exile for two years in obscurity.
Ten years have passed-
Great changes have taken place in my life around me.
And myself, I obey the laws of the universe.
Has changed-but coming back here again,
Everything in the past embraced me vividly,
Just like last night in this forest.
I walked by once.
This is a hut in exile,
I live here with my poor nurse.
The old mother next door has left.
I can't hear her heavy footsteps,
I can't hear her taking care of everything.
This side is a wooded hill,
I often sit quietly on the mountain,
Looking at the lake, full of sadness.
Shores elsewhere, waves elsewhere. ...
Between the golden fields and the green pastures,
The lake glows blue;
A boat glided across the mysterious lake,
The fisherman dragged a worn-out fishing net behind him.
On the gentle slope of the lake bank, there are stars and spots.
Some villages are scattered further away.
A crooked mill with a windmill on top.
Struggle in the wind ...
For generations
At the end of the handed down territory, it is a road.
The road was rugged with rain,
There are three pine trees where it folds into a mountain.
One tree is farther away, while the other two trees
I love you very much. Right here,
Every time I ride by in the moonlight,
The branches of pine trees make a familiar rustling sound.
Say hello to me. Along this road,
I got on it again, in front of me.
The pine tree appeared again, and everything was the same as yesterday.
I heard the familiar rustle again-
But next to their old roots,
(It used to be just a bare space)
Now the young trees are growing,
This is a green family with bushes.
Like a child in the shade of a pine tree,
In the distance are their lonely companions,
Like an old widower, beside it,
Still as empty as ever
Hello, young man,
A stranger!
I can't see your future growth,
By then, you will be taller than my old acquaintance,
You'll cover their aging heads,
Passers-by will never see them again.
But let my grandchildren listen to your greetings,
When he came back from his friend's house excitedly,
My heart is full of fresh ideas,
Walking past you in the dead of night,
Then he'll think of me.
For appreciation, please refer to Ren Guangxuan's Sight, Time and Space and Others-Pushkin's Artistic Skills of a Poetry.