Xiang Song

Looking at the Central Plains in the distance, there are many city walls outside the desolate smoke. I think of those days when flowers covered willows and phoenix towers and dragon pavilions were built. The front of the Long Live Mountain is surrounded by pearls and greenery, and music and singing are performed in the Peng Hu Hall. Up to now, the suburbs are full of iron hooves, and the wind and dust are bad. The soldiers are safe and the edge is strong. The people are safe and the gullies are filled. Sigh that the country remains the same, thousands of villages are scattered. When will I ask for a tassel to carry a sharp brigade and cross the Qinghe River and Luo with a whip? But he returned and continued his tour of Hanyang, riding a yellow crane.