Mistake
I passed through the South of Yangzi
The face waiting at the turn of seasons, like a lotus flower, blooms and wilts
Without the east wind, the willow catkins in March do not flutter
Your heart is like the lonesome little town
Like its streets of cobblestones near nightfall
When footfalls are silent and the bed curtains of March not unveiled
Your heart is a little window tightly shut
My clattering hooves are beautiful mistakes
I am not a homecoming man but a passing traveler …