Spring grass grows in the pond, and willows in the pond turn into songbirds.
The grass is dry and the hawk's eyes are weak, and the snow is gone and the horse's hooves are light.
The remaining fireflies are perched on the jade dew, and the early geese are brushing against the Golden River.
The grass grows in the original land, withering and growing every year.
It rains every time during the yellow plum season, and frogs are everywhere in the grassy ponds.
The spring breeze is green again on the south bank of the river. When will the bright moon shine on me again?
The yellow chestnuts are singing and the mulberries are beautiful, and the purple cherries are ripe and refreshing.
The flowers are gone and there is no rain cover, but the chrysanthemums are still covered with proud frost branches.
The apricot blossom rain makes your clothes wet, and the willow wind blows on your face without chilling it.
The light rain on Tianjie is as moist as butter, and the color of grass looks far away but not up close.
Three or two branches of peach blossoms outside the bamboo are a prophet of the warmth of the spring river. The ground is covered with wormwood and reed buds are short, which is when the puffer fish is about to come.
It is a pity that the tree in the courtyard has been transplanted to become a Han official. Just because it comes late, it doesn’t bloom as early as spring.
After all, the scenery of West Lake in June is different from that of the four seasons. The lotus leaves connecting to the sky are infinitely green, and the lotus flowers reflecting the sun are uniquely red.
The water in the duck pond is shallow and deep, and the weather is half cloudy and sunny for ripe plums. The east garden contains wine, the west garden is drunk, and all the loquats are picked.
It’s spring when the poplar flowers blow down, adding new greenery to the small pond. It is still cold during the silkworm bathing season, and the doors of the villagers are half-open.
The beauty of April in the world is gone, and the peach blossoms in the mountain temple are beginning to bloom. I always regret that I can't find a place to return home in spring, and I don't know how to turn to this mountain.
Savages without calendar say that the crows of birds tell the four seasons: in February, you hear the crows, so spring plowing cannot be late; in March, you hear the orioles, and the young women are showing off their silkworms; in April, you hear the cuckoo cries, and the domestic silkworms are in clusters; in May, Uncle Mingya, the young seedlings hate the lush grass.