I ponder on the poem of The Precious Dagger. br My road has wound through many years. br ...Now yellow leaves are shaken with a gale; br Yet piping and fiddling keep the Blue Houses merry. br On the surface, I seem to be glad of new people; br But doomed to leave old friends behind me, br I cry out from my heart for Xinfeng wine br To melt away my thousand woes.