Bamboo leaves lightly spread out before the table.
Leaves turned into boats,
Fine threads lightly wrapped,
It’s the craftsmanship of time.
The glutinous rice is as clear as snow,
The filling is full of worldly flavors.
Everyone joins forces to wrap zongzi like mountains,
Reunion is never alone.
Steam twirls and ascends,
The aroma of zongzi brews in the pot.
Passing through the deep courtyard,
Awakening the early summer time.
It’s not just the fragrance of rice that steams,
But also the indissoluble reunion in the festival.
The bamboo leaves return to the mud,
The fragrance still lingers in the morning breeze.
