Longxi month, Di Daoshuang,
Brother Millet is busy repairing the canal with a pestle.
The wood geese fly south with no return date,
The wind on the Great Wall makes my clothes cool.
Grandma looked at her white head,
My father's grave is deserted.
No one has collected the bones thousands of miles away,
The cry of the lone goose broke through the moon of Qin,
Blood and tears soaked the Longxi frost.
