Nostalgia haunts my mind, the mist of Miye. The barking of the dog comes from far away, echoes and calls, and the place of truth and purification needs to follow the trail into the haze. Travel through the messy world, free? Absurd wanderlust. Depleted and helpless with aging, the face reflected in the mirror overtakes the original me. The uproar is self-seeking weeping. Kneeling down and praying, nurturing bitterness and happiness, and the sound of leaking stone eaves. Stepping on a bicycle and walking in place, the starting point of the countryside is the destination of people. Laugh at me and hold my body, the world does not see that I have lost my way. There is also joy in life, and there must be suffering in life. Find the natural me in the patchwork of joy and sorrow. The madman's sympathy and indignation turn into candlelight to lead the lost world, the poet walks alone and uses life as the wax to keep the candlelight, and the torch turns into ashes and tears begin to dry. The bird that was eager to fly away from its hometown in search of bliss at the beginning, in the wrong world of turbidity and thorns, was smashed by tainted wings, struggling desperately to make a silk heart and a feather, returning to a pond of nostalgia for eternal life
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