My thought ceases casually,
what is the spring river singing vocally?
　

When spring comes, the flowers cannot be patient,
they break through the the branches in order to bloom.
　

Under the blue sky,
the thought of my youth like marble is now faraway, never coming back.
　

The white clouds lift.
With awe and amazement,
I look up at Mt. Nantai,
a huge substance.
　

When I go deep into a valley, I feel at ease.
How does Freud explain this phenomenon?