Under the clear sky, why am I always so lonely, with the wind blowing by me, standing under the banyan tree, watching the leaves withering, who is it crying for, the birds in the sky are flying, who are the migratory birds in her south?
The leaves are floating, the birds are flying, and my heart goes with it. Looking up at the sky, why can't it embrace me, like him, warm and gentle, but that has become a thing of the past...