There is a sad wind in the wilderness, whizzing Artemisia.
Department horse relies on poplar, who knows I embrace.
All those who wear the same robe meet and grow old.
It ascends Hanjialing in the north and looks at Chang'an Road in the south.
There are dead tree roots below and flying squirrel nests above.
No one has lived for thousands of years.
Treasure and jade frequency, what do the elves do.
Life must be lived, with wine and long songs.
The Original Poetry: