Rolling and rolling, the Long River toward east it surged,
Billowing waves washed off so many heroes.
Victories and defeats were vanished as we looked back,
But the green mountains still stood,
And how many rosy dusk past?
The grey hair fisherman was sitting on the islet,
And used to observe autumn moon and spring wind.
A pot unfiltered wine to welcome his came across friend,
From past to present, how many stories,
Let them be shared in laughter and chat.
82 x 190 cm