Qingshan Lakeside

The green mountains are covered with green daisies in the clear sky, and the wind blowing by the lakeside gently ruffles the willow branches. The clouds follow the leisurely gulls floating on the mirror water, and the flowers follow the fine waves across the stream bridge. The spring tide is flowing in the empty paintings, and the farewell is far away in Yao Miao's songs. The most beautiful thing is that the mist knows my intention, and the subtle rhyme in my lapel makes me feel pure and clear. Where will this pure love go in the end? Will they succumb to secular pressure and end in misery, or will they break through the obstacles and compose their own song among the green mountains and green waters?