The world's ways are thin, human feelings are evil, rain sends the dusk and flowers easily fall.
The morning wind dries, tear stains remain. Wanting to write down the matters of the heart, I talk alone by the slanting balustrade. Difficult, difficult, difficult!
People become separated, today is not yesterday, the sick soul is always like a swing rope. The horn sounds are cold, the night is waning.
Chapter 94