Across the rivers and mountains, where is my home? I can only sigh at the wild skies of Chu.
How many splendid dynasties have passed? Who rules the Han realm now, as officials fill the roads?
Blame not the Southern Dynasties for their lingering regrets, scattered and abandoned to the cold wasteland.
Only the indifferent grass remains, dim in the fading light.
I climb the tower and gaze north, afraid the wind will startle the cranes into cries, stirring grief and indignation.
Only the blue waters of the Qinhuai remain, while the people have gone, trapped in a dream of yellow millet.
How sad that now, tears fall at the New Pavilion. A beauty is summoned, and in the blink of an eye, the world changes.
What sorrow: a few cries from migrating geese, from Jieshi to Xiaoxiang.
As long as you are still writing, I will keep reading. I am really afraid that you will stop writing 😭