Over the green and yellow rice fields sweep the shadows of the autumn clouds, followed by the swift-chasing sun.
        The bees forget to sip their honey; drunken with the light they foolishly hum and hover; and the ducks in the sandy riverbank clamour in joy for mere nothing.
        None shall go back home, brothers, this morning, none shall go to work.
        We will take the blue sky by storm and plunder the space as we run.
        Laughters fly floating in the air like foams in the flood.
        Brothers, we shall squander our morning in futile songs.

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