"The waning moon is broken and not seen, and the morning light is like smoke." Who can bring me these two poems?

The waning moon is broken but not seen, and the dawn is as light as smoke.

Cold fog and light rain lean against the window, and the morning dew melts into the night.

Testimony:

I can't sleep on a rainy night, leaning against the window to see the color of the future, and the morning dew drags slightly between flowers and leaves, as if it were integrated. I think the westerners are gone, and I feel empty and lonely in an empty house alone.