In the pine groves, the wind is cold, and the water flows clear as the wind's blow,
The lonely boat, no boatman, is lazily tied to the riverside willow.
The pavilion, overlooking the field, and telling the past sorrows to float,
An indifferent bird chirps, pecking and guarding the empty boat.
(Apr.6th,2024, Kinsley Lee)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem