The green waves are rolling, thousands of flying willow trees are reflected, and the Qiang flute at the tail of the light boat is singing. Thinking about tomorrow, I hold my chest high and feel happy, half a song sinking like a fish with thousands of branches. The short wormwood and green reeds, the pretty ripples of the Mirror Lake, how many elegant poems are sung, the black bamboos are flying in the rain, the flute music is born in the wind, and there is no time to fall into the mortal world. The clear water and refreshing breeze have been eulogized for decades, especially looking forward to a lifetime, with the intention of entrusting the Taoyuan.
The above is also a mess, and it is not easy to read. I'll make a mess too.