The butterfly on the Sansheng Stone cannot fly through the vicissitudes of life.
After endless reincarnations, thousands of shadows gather together, and I am so tipsy that I can't stand a single drink; when I return to my dream, it is as cold as water.
The autumn rain is leaking more, telling dreams, tenderness, confusion, and yearning. The moon knows it, I know it, but you don't know it;
The yellow dust on the ancient road covers up sorrow, courage, loyalty, and determination. The bright moon knows it, you know it, but I don't know it!
A moment, the past and future lives; a moment, thousands of years. The clouds are returning to the sky, and the moon is hidden in the forest.
I just don't know where the uncertain wind is blowing? Returning or leaving?