Chapter 23 sadness of the moon

Tonight, the moon is deep in thought, looking extraordinarily leisurely, Like a beauty lying on layers of mattresses to the edge of one's breast before falling asleep Stretching out a careless hand to gently caress, Lying on my back on a mattress as soft as snowflakes, The haggard moon has long been infatuated with infatuation, Looking around like flowers blooming White and bright phantoms appearing in the sky. When the moon occasionally turns to the earth with sorrow When quietly shed a teardrop, There is a devout poet who cannot sleep, Hurry up and catch it with your own palm

this pale teardrop And hid in his eyes far from the sun.