The willows in Xicheng are soft in spring, leaving me with sorrow and tears. I still remember how sentimental I was and how I once returned to the boat. What happened that day at Biye Zhuqiao was that no one was seen and the water flowed empty.
Time is not reserved for young people, hate is long, when will you rest? When the catkins are flying and the flowers are falling, as soon as I climb the stairs, the spring river is full of tears, endless flow, and a lot of sorrow.
In a daze, I can recall my youthful temperament and youthful joy, but there is no way to trace them.
When I looked up, I saw that the flowing clouds had disappeared, leaving only the blue sky and the lonely moon.
Hua Yi's message:
Because this is my first time writing ancient texts, there will inevitably be some illogical loopholes. Everyone is welcome to suggest them, but I hope everyone can respect my work and don't curse when making suggestions. If you don't like it, just click on it and go out. My mind is very fragile...