Out of the window, a few loquat trees,
Clusters of pale white flowers have fallen silent.
No one stops,
Sniff at the scent of the flower,
As if never before.
The season, the description of the day,
Quietly, the sun and the breeze,
Caress the branches, a few grains, and a few grains
Surrounded by numerous leaves, more enchanting colors.
Across the window, see flowers and fruit,
The flower is fragrant, the fruit is fragrant,
Paint of time,
Spread beautifully on the branches of the season.
Pipa fruit, tender loquat fruit,
Perhaps the habits of subtle temptation,
Grab the same brutality, shout at loquat fruit.
Just sour taste,
Abandoned; decayed on the soil,
The sad loquat fruit, the putrid temptation!
On earth, beauty is visited,
Eyes that once thought were always beautiful,
Dream of mourning, heart fall.
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