Rain flower poetry

But now I remember that night, that storm, I wonder how many flowers were broken?

At dusk, the wind and rain hit the garden, and the residual chrysanthemums fell all over the ground.

At sea, I don't hesitate to be a beauty, and I am independent and embarrassed.

In spring, the south flowers are like embroidery, and the rain is like oil across the West Lake.

Swallows don't return to the Spring Festival Evening, and it's a misty rain and apricot blossoms.

Sometimes it rains at three or two, and there are ten five flowers everywhere.