has been knocking at the door for a while. My window
The Gorkon in July is open to the sunset.
The freehand brushwork of ink and wash is like
a stream in a mountain stream
and a burst of frogs
falling into Yuan Ye.
I always remember the dream of smoke curling up
the clear sunshine
just like the glory of a year old.
The wind is spreading its worries to every corner of the earth.
At night,
A tear drops from the leaves.
A firefly is looking for the sunset.
Everything is so calm.
A nursery rhyme is raised in the air.
It's just that a little light slowly sinks into the darkness.
A sound echoes in the night sky. Like tears and like wind
Well
Like a circle of life
A bucket glimpses the past from the clearness of the spring
Bend down just to kiss this still memory
Face expands in ripples
Water surface and bottom
A little intimacy
Memory becomes blurred
Put down the bucket again <