“月落乌啼霜满天,江枫渔火对愁眠,姑苏城外寒山寺,夜半钟声到客船。”面对眼前沙沙作响的枯荷和远处泛着粼粼波纹的江水,我仿佛想起了老师站在讲台上的低低吟唱:月亮快要落下去了,栖息在树上的乌鸦发出几声啼鸣。夜深寒重,白露凝霜。江上闪烁的“渔火”和岸边朦朦的“江枫”仿 “Yuewu Wushuang was full of frost, and Jiang Feng’s fishing was a sleepy night. It was outside Hanshan Temple outside Gusu and it was heard by passenger ships at midnight.” Facing the dry rustling of the front of the river and the rippled river in the distance, I feel as if I remembered the teacher sang low on the podium: The moon was going to fall, and the crows that roost in the trees made a few buzzing sounds. The night is cold and heavy, white dew cream. The flashing “fishing fire” on the river and the “Jiang Feng” imitation on the shore