The poet sailed to Qingfengpu and parked here to see the scenery. Two green maples on the shore were destroyed. When trees are associated with people, I feel old, weak and exhausted at this time. The original strong spirit is gone, and I can no longer pretend to be a pillar. Water waves are floating on the surface of the water, holding the boat's gauze cap, and the bark of Shuangfeng lying in the river is soaked in the water and attached to the moss, as if blocking the way of brocade. The land by the river has a master, and the wandering poet hopes that he can get help and return to the paradise of living in peace, just like riding a horse to heaven.