The water is boundless, and the lotus blooms at night.
Watch the lights gradually come out of the temple in the distance, and wait until the moon gets dark to see the lake.
The poem "Returning to the Lake at Night":
I don't drink enough, but it tastes long when I'm half drunk. The basket returned to the lake, and the spring breeze and the cold wind were cold.
Traveling in lonely Shanxi, the night is gray. Yin Qing was mixed with dreams, which made this sentence forgotten.
I still remember Yiyi Lihua Village, smelling a faint fragrance.
Hu Huaixi sends an email to Uncle Chaomei:
The West Lake has beautiful scenery, and no one is stupid or smart. Look at the income in depth, who can know it all.
Well, I am crazy and straight, and I have already donated it to the world. Dedicated to landscape music and paid to Ning.
Three hundred and sixty halls, looking for poor years. What you get is beautiful, but what you know is hard to spread.
So far, the dream is clear and refreshing. You hold the messenger festival in your hand, and your style shines.
Clean and beautiful, Anken is a gentleman. Hu didn't ride off the screen, but borrowed the monk couch to sleep for the time being.
Read my poem between the walls, cool and wash. There is no way to guide the staff, but it is done with heart.
When you meet an old fisherman, the reed is complacent. Ask if there is, buy fish and talk about money.