Thinking of the waters of Dongting in the south, yearning for Yanmen Pass in the north. Rice and millet are worth longing for; fly away and then fly back again.
The autumn sky is clear, peaks stand solemnly in orderly rows, Zhao Changhe arrived at Yanmen, gazing at the distant scenery, and suddenly felt that this poem was quite fitting for himself.
Just like the geese flying back and forth between the north and the south, his purpose was not for the grains.
As for writing a poetic description of the scenery, he was stuck now, not able to come up with a single line—some things require the right mood.
