静坐月夜孟兰叶玉兔蹦入天庭时披一身惨白。鸟在树荫里做着干篇一律的梦。树小心翼翼守著夜的窗口，憋得太久，全身汗透，打湿了静坐树下孤独的我。一条小溪，自高处滑翔而下，是柳丝般的纤手拂过一排琴键，发出一串她娇弱复杂的呼吸。呼吸里似有屈子的悲壮、杜甫的失意。... Meng Lan Ye Yutu was a pale white when he entered the heavens. Birds do the same dream in the shade. The tree carefully guarded the window of the night, lingered too long, the body sweating, sobbing me sitting alone under the tree. A small stream, gliding down from above, is like a fiddle of Liu Si’s delicate hand, squeezing through a row of keys and issuing a series of her delicate and delicate breaths. There seems to be a tragic and cruel figure in the breath, Du Fu’s frustration. ...