Write a fisherman's poem

An old fisherman spent the night here, burning bamboo under the west cliff, Xiao Ji, Qing Xiang.

Then, at sunrise, he walked through the fog. Alas, it was a green landscape.

I turned around and saw the waves moving like from the sky, and the clouds on the cliff drifted carelessly one after another.

Jiang Xue.

Liutang Zongyuan

Hundreds of mountains have no birds, and thousands of paths have no footprints.

A boat, a bamboo cloak, an old man fishing in the cold Jiang Xue.