The coming and going wind strings the sentimental years into pearls, the geese flying south turn the farewell lovesickness into the road of goodbye, and the falling leaves turn the dream of prosperity into the mud under the flowers.
I always thought that there was only Zihuan in my life; I always thought that no one would understand my tranquil sky.
The flowers in the mirror and the moon in the water are all an empty dream.
Three thousand blue hairs will eventually turn white.
I worked hard, but couldn't grasp the happiness I wanted.
As the sun sets in the west, Zijian, who is dancing for you on the bank of Luoshui River?