The bright moon hung high in the sky, the breeze gradually stopped, the jade dew was clear, the microwave was not popular, and the stars reflected the cold water all over the sky.
My mood is melancholy, just like a white pear flower in the east column, living in the secular world and self-cleaning, how thorough and clear I see this complicated secular life.
Since the death of the poet who released the crane, the dark fragrance under the moon and the thin shadow in the middle of the moon, this poem seems to be frozen in the lonely mountain in the lake.
The white and clear sea of clouds is rolling, the fine dust is not dyed, but the distant mountains and rivers are all your figure. Looking down at the hanging flowers, the fragrant tea in the cup has been blown cool.