Village festival

We go to our village festival
Bring the six-eight verse to the village to present.
Moss on old tiled roof
The river sings endlessly day by day.

The countryside well reflects the sky and clouds
The village fields are exposed to the dry plowed furrows.
The communal house yard is empty and bustling.
Gently and gracefully you enter the spring festival.

Mixed in the distant song
Birds call friends, spring calls love
Beautiful bamboo standing alone
The rowing mat tilts across the communal house yard waiting for someone.

Gone for a long time
The smoke and straw will one day return
Village festival oath
Tell me if you'll come back to me.

How many springs have passed since we were apart?
Splitting the six-eight verse of a time of diversity
I went that way in a hurry
I alone embrace the loss, who knows?

About the festival village this afternoon
Thinking back to that day... the old festival...