May 2020
We bid each other farewell beside the hill,
Alas, the sun has flees.
Feeling the withered petal from plum blossom trees,
In spring, the grass will return,
But will my friend return?
Alas, the sun has flees.
Feeling the withered petal from plum blossom trees,
In spring, the grass will return,
But will my friend return?
