Meeting
The low bridge,
The flowing stream,
They are still here.
This place, �� �� �� ��
Now desolate and forsaken,
Was once our village so dear. С �� �� ˮ �� Ȼ ��
I remember, һ Ƭ �� Ұ �� �� ��
Here, we held each other's hands �� �� �� ʱ �� ǣ ��
When we played. �� �� �� �� �� �� ��
But now,
Your hair is white.
And also,
In your arm,
That cute grandchild.
Eventide
Gone were the days
When
Armed to the teeth
I plunged into the thick of battles �� ��
Sword sheathed �� �� �� �� �� �� ��
Steed released �� �� �� �� �� �� ��
In my heart there is peace �� �� �� �� �� м ��
To ongoing strife and struggle I pay no need �� �� �� �� �� ɽ ��
Here I sit,
Watching the red Sun being devoured
By western peaks.
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