One day returns to floating clouds, half moon wheels exchange.
The new rain hits the canopy pillars, and the wine is boiled to relieve the cold wind.
The dust falls as you walk lightly, and the strings break when you rub them with your fingers.
The world is ruthless, sighing with sadness and joy.
I haven't seen you in the clouds, and I'm worried about lovesickness.
The brocade bag is wrapped with red beans, and the thoughts are filled with new year.
The green snail has changed into a cloud on the temples, leaning alone on the bank of a weeping willow.
Adding earth to make a small grave will always repay the sorrow.