Poetry about rain, feathers, snow and Iraq.

The qingping music that writes rain withers in spring, and it is lonely and idle. Pink butterflies are dancing on the threshold, and curtains are rolled up later in the day to drain the rain. Sorrow alone in the boudoir, jade furnace smoke broken incense micro. It is the ecstasy season, and the east wind flies all over the courtyard. "Song of Eternal Sorrow" and the tears on her sad white face are like spring rain on pear flowers. The spring rain in Lin 'an is as thin as gauze all the year round. Who will be the rider in Beijing? Living in a small building and listening to the falling spring rain, you will hear the sound of selling apricots in the depths of the alley early in the morning. Slowly spread out small pieces of paper sideways, every word is organized, carefully boil water and tea under the sun window, skim it and try to taste famous tea. Oh, don't sigh that the dust in Kyoto will stain the white clothes, and there is still time to return to the mirror house in Lake Ubak. The cultural relics of the Six Dynasties in Shui Ge, Kaiyuan Temple in Xuanzhou, are even empty, and the sky is light and the clouds are idle. Birds go to the mountains, and people sing and cry. In late autumn, a thousand rains fall on the curtain, and the balcony plays the flute at sunset. Disappointed, I watch Fan Li every day, and there are five lakes in the East. There are several plum blossoms in the corner of the plum blossom that writes snow, and cold ling opens them alone. I knew from a distance that it wasn't snow, because there was a smell coming. "Don't be big" In Huang Yun, thousands of miles away, the north wind blows goose feather and snow one after another. "Seven Songs of Joining the Army" Qinghai has a long journey to the dark snow-capped mountains, and the lonely city looks at Yumenguan. Wang Changling: Seven Military Services.