Night, like ink drops on the canvas of the sky, permeates and faints. With a few strokes of the brush, there are stars. With a few strokes, the soft moonlight will shoot into your heart.
The firefly's light is as warm as the stars. The cricket took out his violin and played a beautiful waltz with the breeze.
The stream is flowing slowly, like the conveyor belt of time, passing by a little bit. Flowers even at night will also send out fragrance, the fish in the pool spit bubbles, bubbles are curtain after curtain of dreams. The sky began to rain, one by one, bright to the extreme, beautiful and sad, as if that is the sky tears.
Gently pull the curtain, is afraid to disturb that quiet; Lie down gently for fear of waking the sleeping stars; Gently cover the quilt, is afraid to break the sweet country dream.
