The lilacs of April sway with the wind, and the roses of May perfume the air


The graceful tenderness of Jiangnan women flows effortlessly from your pen
In soft words and gentle whispers, the light of knowledge quietly blooms
Flowers have their blooming seasons; people do not stay evergreen
You say I was born with the look of Jiangnan
Yet I am not Zhou Lang—just a passerby
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