The spring of the fifteenth year of Jinghe. The breeze blows by the bank of Yangzhou. I keep the faith of one person, but there is no sound.
The summer of the 30th year of Jinghe. The rain frightened the flowers, and they bloomed on the shore of Yangzhou. I expected someone to write, but no news.
The autumn of the 40th year of Jinghe. Dead leaves enter the water, beside Yangzhou. I was waiting for someone to come back, but he didn't come back.
In the winter of the first year of Qing'an. The snow is dyed white, and Yangzhou is slow. I waited for someone to return, but to no avail.
"Stay together till we grow old together. How can you be lying?"
Intention: self-improvement