The geese, on the sky, pairs of rows, the river is long, the autumn grass is yellow, the grassland zither sound sad.
The geese, to the south, flew through the reeds, the sky is vast, the geese how to go, the heart is the northern home.
The geese are returning to the north, bringing my thoughts with them. The song is far away, the sound of the piano is long, and the grassland is ambiguous in spring.
The geese, to the sky, how far the sky, the wine drink dry, and then fill up, tonight not drunk not return.