四月的雨,悄无声息地下着。
April rain, quietly underground.
安静地听着雨声,看着它下落。它们唱着歌,飞舞着。它们溅起水花,跳动着。风中雨,雨中风,配合得天衣无缝。那纷飞的雨点,只求得迸溅后的粉身碎骨,只愿激起片片涟漪,滑落在窗上,滴在叶上,流进人们的心里。它如此坦然而又平和。
Listen to the rain quietly and watch it fall. They are singing and dancing. They splashed and danced. Wind in the rain, rain in the wind, with seamless. That flying raindrop, only for the broken bones after the splash, only want to stir up pieces of ripples, slide on the window, drop on the leaves, flow into people's hearts. It's so calm and peaceful.
在这条两旁种满梧桐的小巷中,雨轻轻地飘落。它冲刷着青灰的石板路,洗涤着鲜绿的梧桐叶。一切都变得光亮。那躲起来的青苔,也像染了头发,绿得那么鲜艳。这幽静的小巷偶尔有撑伞走过的人,他们也总是慢慢地踱步,看这幅画,听这首诗。
The rain falls gently on the side streets of Wutong. It washed the gray slab road and washed the fresh green Wutong leaves. Everything became bright. The moss in hiding is as bright green as dyed hair. Occasionally, there are people passing by with umbrellas in the quiet alley. They also pace slowly, look at the painting and listen to the poem.
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