In front of the steep gate stands an old camphor tree, quietly watching the world for three hundred years.
In the depths of the reeds, the beautiful woman laughs; I come to seek the place where the boat forgets to return.
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In front of the steep gate stands an old camphor tree, quietly watching the world for three hundred years.
In the depths of the reeds, the beautiful woman laughs; I come to seek the place where the boat forgets to return.