If there is an afterlife, I would like to spend time with you on bamboo horses and green plum blossoms, and on a light boat with sparse shadows gradually becoming dusk.
If there is an afterlife, I would like to pick mulberry and linen with you, and spend the setting sun with you on the plow.
If there is an afterlife, can it be as I wish? How could you, who I miss so deeply, abandon me so easily?
Do you know? I don't want the evening breeze in fox fur, I don't want to wander around in the idle sun, and I don't want princes or generals.
I just want to be with you, even if I sleep in the autumn wind at night, sleep in the cold winter, and drift like this, I won't complain at all.