In a rapeseed field,
The setting sun fades.
The far edge of the mountains comes into view,
The mist thickens.
A gentle spring breeze blows,
When you look at the sky,
The evening moon hangs overhead,
And the fragrance is faint.
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The village's firelight too,
The forest's colors as well,
Along the path between fields,
The people who follow it,
Even the frogs' croaking,
And the bells' tolls as well,
All as if veiled by haze,
On a hazy moonlit night.