The white gull asked me when I parked in a lonely boat, is it my body? Is it my heart? If my heart is left, why should I frown? The wind blows the small curtain and the lights are dancing, facing the idle shadow, deserted and clear, recalling the old trip.
Old travels, old travels, are you here now? Flowers outside the building, boats under the willows. I can't dream of it. The cold water flows empty, the desert yellow clouds soak the kapok fur. There is no one who is as worried as me. It snows tonight, and there are plum blossoms, which are as sad as me!
------Jiang Jie