The beauty of poetry is eternal, just like the sound of rain that has lasted for hundreds of millions of years. It is the drizzle on the sycamore trees, the intoxicating fragrance of the flower shade, the cool east wind in the small building, the shadow of magpies flashing under the moonlight, the croaking of frogs in the fragrance of rice flowers, the connection between cloud waves and dawn mist, the murmur of falling red and fragrant grass...
