Huang Chao's poems

Waiting for the autumn of the eighth day of the ninth lunar month —— Huang Chao's The Last Happiness.

If I were Di Qing next year, I would report to Taohua. -Huang Chao's "Chrysanthemum"

The west wind is rustling all over the courtyard, and cold butterflies are hard to come by. -Huang Chao's "Chrysanthemum"

I remember when the grass was flying and the iron clothes were covered with robes. -Huang Chao's "Self-titled Image"

Tianjin Bridge didn't know anything, so I leaned against the post and watched the sunset. -Huang Chao's "Self-titled Image"