"I've watched the spring pass away again, When will I be able to return?"

"The city has fallen: only the hills and rivers remain. In Spring the streets were green with grass and trees."

"The ladle's cast aside, the cup not green, The stove still looks as if a fiery red. To many places, communications are broken, I sit, but cannot read my books for grief."

"My poems are no use—they won’t fill anyone’s stomach."

"The river is so wide, even the birds can’t cross it."