Gathering Ferns

Gathering the bracken, gathering the bracken, the bracken has begun to sprout. We say we're going home, we say we're going home, but the year is drawing to a close. We have no home, no family, all because of the Xianyun. We cannot even rest in peace, all because of the Xianyun. Gathering the bracken, gathering the bracken, the bracken is tender now. We say we're going home, we say we're going home, but our hearts are full of sorrow. Our grief burns fiercely, and we're hungry and thirsty. Our garrison is unsettled, and there's no one to send home with news. Gathering the bracken, gathering the bracken, the bracken is tough now. We say we're going home, we say we're going home, and the year has reached its final month. The king's duties allow no pause; we have no time to rest. Our hearts ache with grief. We cannot return from this campaign! What blossoms are those, in such abundance? They're the flowers of the cherry tree. What is that grand vehicle? It is the nobleman's chariot. The war chariots are harnessed, the four stallions strong and mighty. How could we dare settle down? Three victories every month. Harness those four stallions, those four stallions swift and strong. The nobleman rides within, while the common soldiers shelter beneath. The four stallions move in perfect formation, with ivory bows and fish-skin quivers. How could we not be on guard every day? The Xianyun threat is dire! When I set out, the willows swayed, lush and green. Now I return, through falling snow and rain. The road stretches on, and I am hungry and thirsty. My heart is heavy with grief, yet no one knows my sorrow! Expanded from Mo Ming Qi Miao's Wen Zhan. This is an extremely short story. The song was just so good that I shamelessly expanded on it. Message: