And the poem goes: "On the idle hill of summer, lazy with the flow of streams, hark I hear a distant drummer, drumming like a sound in dreams, far and near and low and louder on the roads of earth go by, dear to friend and food to powder, soldiers marching, soon to die."
诗是这样的 闲荡夏林间 溪自细细流 遥听远鼓响 鼓乐疑梦音 无常世间道 珍重朋与辈，碾食成粉末 战士踏征途 魂销沙场渺