Small bridges and flowing water in Hsinchu,
The light rain makes the grass wet,
Looking far into the deep valley and quiet stream,
The clouds and mist warm the waterfall,
Still taking a nap in the spring breeze,
I don't know it's already Twilight.
Some things cannot be thought of or done, so they have to be turned into a small poem and hidden in a bookmark. Have you ever understood it? But after all, I hope you never understand...