Listening to the shengxiao, we are so close
The boat is empty and the years are spent
The fragrance of ink is exhausted in plain hand-painted paintings
Life and death smile on both sides
Unintentionally touched, early spring in my motherland
Greening the south bank of the Yangtze River
The wind is dark and the flowers are blooming indifferently
The morning breeze blows slowly, and the waning moon hangs alone
Leave a piece of paper empty Jiangnan