Original link: https://www.velasx.com/am/5985
Under the village pavilion, it was me and her who were kept by the rain.
The evening breeze ruffled her cuffs and hair.
She hummed a careless melody,
Lightly shade the pavement with wet toes.
she says–
Listen to the raindrops falling on the green grass,
shattered to pieces,
It is a sleep song given by the moon and stars to the soil.
At the foot of the flow is the ethereal Qinglian,
Like an iced drink sliding down the tongue,
Sweet and tangy, with bubbly bubbles.
farther away,
The smoke is hazy, the spring thunder bursts,
The dense mist wrapped above the woods,
It is a dream that has not yet formed tonight.
Shining is a changing cloud;
Deep, are the rolling hills;
A circle of raindrops dripped from the corner of the pavilion,
Hidden the far sky in amber intertwined with light and dark,
Finally, it becomes the memory of the earth.
I wanted to ask her,
Compared with the city, the rain in the countryside can be considered a novelty?
However, she saw that her pupils were like lanterns,
A slight blush appeared on his cheeks,
Like the wind of early spring that hides in a summer field and floats up secretly.
Cover: Photo by Niklas Hamann on Unsplash
© The copyright of the text content of this article belongs to Velas Radio Station. For commercial reprints, please contact the webmaster for authorization; for non-commercial reprints, please indicate the source of this article and the link to the article, and the text content of this article cannot be modified or deduced without the permission of the webmaster.
This article is reproduced from: https://www.velasx.com/am/5985
This site is for inclusion only, and the copyright belongs to the original author.