In the half-dark morning,
The first drop of dew has just condensed on the grass tips,
The glazed sky is the faded moonlight,
The chirping of birds awakens the light sleep in the forest,
There is singing coming from far away,
Diffuse in fog is called mist, dispersed in the wind and turned into mist.
Neither vulgar nor flattering, light or strong,
Strangers depart, believers perish...
Intention: