jìn hán shí yǔ cǎo qī qī,
zhù mài miáo fēng liǔ yìng dī。
děng shì yòu jiā guī wèi dé,
dù juān xiū xiàng '
ěr biān tí。
As the holiday approaches, and grasses are bright after rain,
And the causeway gleams with willows, and wheatfields wave in the wind,
We are thinking of our kinsfolk, far away from us.
O cuckoo, why do you follow us, why do you call us home?