When Su Qingyuan was still young, his elder brother carried him on his back to pick red persimmons from the branches in the courtyard. When he was older, his mother took him on a small boat into the depths of the lotus pond and picked off a bunch of small lotus pods.
I woke up from a broken dream. No one was around. There was only a cold moon hidden in the thin clouds. There was an unfinished wedding dress on the wooden frame in the house. In the quiet night, which made people feel chilly behind me, the golden threads were still glowing.
Burn agarwood to relieve the heat.
Birds call out for the clear sky, and they peek into the eaves at dawn.
On the leaves, the sun rises and the rain falls, the water surface is clear and round, and the wind lifts them one by one.
My hometown is far away, when will I go?
He lives in Wumen and has been traveling in Chang'an for a long time.
May the fisherman and the man remember each other?
In a small boat, I dreamed of entering Furongpu.
——Zhou Bangyan, Song Dynasty
Intention: The torrent of history carries everyone forward.