A view in spring Tufu

Our nation lies in ruins

Yet the hills and rivers remains;

Within the walls of our great nation,

trees and grasses grown unchecked.

Flowers weep for our time.

Birds grieve for our nation.

Throughout this period,

the beacons seems lighted.

Resting place is now only an imagination;

flowers are no longer adorable.

Now our safe

Is more precious than gold.

Grayish many hair seem to be,

Seek to pin up the wisp of it

But they were too few