I stop sewing every year on social day, how can I bear to see the two flying swallows. Today is half of spring in Jiangcheng, and I am still here, deep in the chaotic mountains, beside the lonely creek bridge.
Whose needlework is worn in the spring shirt, and the lines are full of tears. The sun sets on the grass bank, no one wears flowers, no one persuades me to drink, and no one cares about drunkenness.
Conception: