Swaying in the wind, hanging down in loneliness, the tears of love in the corners of the eyes, dripping into the heart, if it only blooms, how can the poignant beauty in your dream, the slender yellow wither, What was once green, what was once humble, and the intricate knots of purple mulberry trees have slowly turned into sadness. If they were only noble, they would be charming in your heart, and you would shed tears silently, and the purple flowers would droop quietly. I wish to turn into the flower buds in the wind, only dancing without thinking about anyone, purple flowers, purple flowers, crying silently, staying with you no matter how tired you are, and anchoring your heart.