frost dew造句

In the morning, a wisp of dawn wind tramples on the frost dew, passing through the dust on the other side of the mountain, sending a light fragrance.

Acacia is too short, too much dust, too fond of rhyme and sweet ink. Light roll past, moss wrapped lonely, leaning against the fence looking at the horizon, cold dream sadness, frost dew sadness, who can understand thousands of things? How does a tree flourish?