It's a full moon again ... the night is silent and the sky is high and the clouds are deep. Only this bright moon hangs in it. As the only makeup point, the moonlight is as long as water, bright as a dream, and everything under the moon is not clear. How can the hazy flowers in the fog compare with the dream of flowers under the moon? Faint moonlight, dare not reach out and touch it gently, and it will be broken. Far away from the mountains and near the water, this month, I am silly and drunk in this silent silence.