Flowers bloom along the road, butterflies flutter past. The land remains, but those who once knew it are gone.
The old survivors grow ever older, while singing girls return home with long, lingering songs.
Countless mountain flowers bloom beside the road, and passersby hurry to see the emerald carriage arrive.
If only I could keep you from leaving in such regal splendor, then let me urge you to return a little more slowly.
Wealth in life is dew on the grass; the fame we leave behind is the roadside flowers.
Though you have already lingered so long before leaving Lu, you still make me return home at an unhurried pace.
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