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Zheng Chouyu
I traveled to Jiangnan
The face that waits for the season is like the blooming and falling of lotus flowers
If the east wind does not come, the catkins in March will not fly
Your heart is like a small lonely city
The streets just like bluestone look towards the evening
The tillers are silent, the spring curtain of March is not lifted
Your heart is like a small window tightly closed
My dada's horse hoof is a beautiful mistake
I am not a returnee, I am a passerby...