In his later years, he just looked at this poem over and over again in a daze:
Winter and spring pass by, and the cold and heat suddenly change. The son returns to Qiongquan, and the heavy soil will forever separate him from the world. Whoever can restrain his selfish ambitions will benefit from staying in floods. He respectfully obeyed the imperial decree and returned to his original position. I look at the house and think about the person, and I think about what I have experienced when I enter the house. There is no image on the curtain screen, but there are traces of calligraphy and ink. The fragrance has not yet rested, and the remains are still hanging on the wall. The sadness seems to exist, and the week is full of panic and alarm. Like that Hanlin bird, it only roosts twice a day. Like a fish swimming in Sichuan, he compares his eyes to the road analysis. The spring breeze comes, and the morning slips through the eaves. When do I forget to sleep, my worries accumulate day by day. The common people sometimes decline, but Zhuang Fou can still be attacked.
Purpose: In a noisy world, I hope everyone can find their own cloud
