借愁

I passed through the South of Yangzi The face waiting at the turn of seasons, like a lotus flower, blooms and wilts Without the east wind, the willow catkins in March do not flutter Your heart is like the lonesome little town Like its streets of cobblestones near nightfall When footfalls are silent and the bed curtains of March not unveiled Your heart is a little window tightly shut My clattering hooves are beautiful mistakes I am not a homecoming man but a passing traveler….