The green mist surges in the Poetry Island, and the migratory birds wander in the green tide of the forest. I am looking for the moon in the diffuse night and sea breeze. You come across thousands of mountains in a lone boat, and the lights smudge the ends of your hair. In the distance is the blue sky. With the soul of spring, you kiss the past that I find difficult to write. When the spring breeze kisses the desolation, the poet is intoxicated with the dawn, which is a failure.
The wind from the north mountain cannot blow to the end of the south mountain. Is the reunion under the camellia tree a surprise or a sadness?
Intention: My heart beats for more than a moment