The weeping willows are leaning against the wind, the setting sun is playing in the water, and half of the lake is blushing while rocking the boat.
The young man is intoxicated, and the cicadas are on the branches.
Who are you complaining to when you are gibbering to the ends of the earth? The sorrow of leaving the world.
He murmured for a long time, singing songs that made people cry, and his heart was in prison in his ears.