The Wild Goose Returns Late

There is no reason to leave and return late. I recall drinking on the Wuqiao Bridge in the past. Most of the people sitting in the middle were heroes. The long ditch is silent as the moon goes by, and in the sparse shadows of apricot blossoms, I play the flute until dawn. More than twenty years have been like a dream, although this body is in shock. I leisurely climb up to the small pavilion to see the clear sky, there are so many things happening in the past and present, and the fishermen sing the third watch