Years passed on the yellow earth
Spring Moon is a bird of youth, riding in the dark night, perched on the cornice of the ancient city....
However, there is no oriole song.
Only the mute words of the night pour all tenderness and calm into this yellow land that is thirsty for years and has eternal vitality. The moonlight soaked the road, and the scenery longed for the flames of bronze and white stone. I stood with bated breath, staring into the depths of time, silently listening to the sleeping winter days covered by the thick annals of history and the heroic souls of the immortal ancestors who fell into the yellow dust of winter.
The quiet night is more quiet, like the condensation on the green lotus, also listening?
It was the tide of thought that surged and swept in, which shocked my heart: spring has come, not only wandering on the rugged trails.
Spring is sure to sprout and blossom on all the branches.
Awaken the solemn mission, awaken the sleeping morning light.
Everything that is born in the spring will embrace this yellow earth.
Years break into the labyrinth of winter, snow long days:
The eyes lit up with crystal flames, the dance steps swirled out of the white melody, boiling and boiling, but quietly, snow, covered in the vast desert of yellow land...
I saw the onslaught of the cold catharsis. The cold thought was speaking of Rouman's testimony. But this is by no means the final movement. Like smoke, like clouds, like illusions, like dreams. In the flight and trembling of the abundant feathers around him, this amorous warm snow and holy spirits are creating an incandescent and dazzling world, offering the promise of loyalty:
Let the seeds rekindle the desire.
Let the rivers set off a soaring flame.
Fill your heart with deep love that has never been revealed.
Quietly, without trepidation, without defilement.
And when the last piece of ice melts on the wasteland, when the wandering stars search for the first sting of spring, the yellow earth will rise again to recognize the endless reproduction and the joy of harvest.
Years, always move forward mightily.
Yellow land, eternal youth...