Poems about rice

Back in the heyday of Kaiyuan, there were thousands of families in the small town.

Rice is fat and white, and public and private warehouses are rich.

There are no jackals on the road in Kyushu, which is a good day to travel.

Wan Qi Lu Mao drives a car class, where men plow and women weave.

Cutting wheat at noon, sweating like a pig, but it is difficult to eat every grain.

In spring, as long as you sow a seed, you can harvest a lot of food in autumn. There are no idle fields in the four seas, so farmers starve to death.