English translation below.

山前古樹　年輪一圈圈

老井的水聲　記得誰的願

阿娘的手指　繡著一條線

紅色藏在布裡　亮在心田

一條紅絲　細細又長長

穿過祖先的眼　孩子的手掌

你在那一端　我在這一方

風起時輕輕晃　卻從不斷行囊

一條紅絲　默默不張揚

打過千次結　都還在發光

廟門石獅　鬍鬚長了又短

牌坊的字跡　被雨磨得斑

你牽我衣角　穿過人聲煙

小小一截絲帶　系住流年

一條紅絲　細細又長長

穿過祖先的眼　孩子的手掌

你在那一端　我在這一方

風起時輕輕晃　卻從不斷行囊

一條紅絲　默默不張揚

打過千次結　都還在發光

有人遠走他鄉　有人守在門旁

有人名字被記在木牌上

有人名字只剩口口相傳

可同一陣風　吹動同一抹紅

喜帕壓眉　燭火映著淚

祖屋的木窗　推開又合上

你說別怕呀　抬頭往前看

看那門楣之上　紅線正搖晃

一條紅絲　細細又長長

穿過祖先的眼　孩子的手掌

你在那一端　我在這一方

風起時輕輕晃　卻從不斷行囊

一條紅絲　默默不張揚

打過千次結　都還在發光

Translated by Gemini:

Ancient trees before the mountain, rings circling year by year,

The sound of the old well’s water remembers someone’s prayer.

Mother’s fingers are embroidering with a single thread,

Redness hidden in the cloth, shining bright within the heart.

A single red thread, slender and so long,

Passing through the ancestors' eyes and the palms of children.

You are at that end, and I am on this side,

Swaying gently when the wind rises, but never breaking from the journey.

A single red thread, silent and unassuming,

Tied in a thousand knots, yet it still glows.

The stone lion at the temple gate, its beard grows long then short,

The writing on the memorial archway, weathered and blurred by rain.

You tug at the corner of my clothes, passing through the noise and smoke,

A small segment of ribbon, tethering the passing years.

A single red thread, slender and so long,

Passing through the ancestors' eyes and the palms of children.

You are at that end, and I am on this side,

Swaying gently when the wind rises, but never breaking from the journey.

A single red thread, silent and unassuming,

Tied in a thousand knots, yet it still glows.

Some wander far from home, some guard the doorway,

Some names are carved onto wooden tablets,

Some names are left only in stories told by word of mouth.

But the same gust of wind stirs the same touch of red.

The bridal veil presses on the brows, candlelight reflected in tears,

The wooden windows of the ancestral home, pushed open then closed again.

You say, "Don’t be afraid, lift your head and look forward,"

Look above the lintel of the door—the red thread is swaying.

A single red thread, slender and so long,

Passing through the ancestors' eyes and the palms of children.

You are at that end, and I am on this side,

Swaying gently when the wind rises, but never breaking from the journey.

A single red thread, silent and unassuming,

Tied in a thousand knots, yet it still glows.