What is a fine poem?

The poems of Xiao Lang are: Xiao Lang on fish scales, Xiao Lang on fish scales.

The poem of the small wave is: _ _ The small wave rises, and the canoe is swaying. The pinyin is: xing. The structure is: thin (left and right structure) waves (left and right structure). The phonetic notation is: ㄒㄖㄤ _.

What is the specific explanation of Xiaolang? We will introduce it to you in the following aspects:

First, click here to view the details of the plan

Tiny ripples.

second, quote to explain

1. tiny ripples. Quoting Du Fu's poem "Boating in the West of the City" in the Tang Dynasty: "The fish blows the fine waves and shakes the song fan, and the swallows fly and the flowers dance." Jin Yuanhao asked the second poem of "Liang Yuanchun": "Warm into the golden ditch, fine waves add, Jinqiao willow _ slender." Mao Zedong's "Long March" poem: "The five ridges are swaying and swaying, and Wumeng is majestic."

Third, network explanation

Small waves and tiny ripples. Pinyin: xà ng

Poems about fine waves

Spring, Wind Blows Fine Waves, Low Fields and Wheat; Boshan Lake, Twenty-mile Long Lake, Fine Waves, Flat Waves; Hong Kong Climbs, Sparkling Fine Waves, Soaking in Smoky Sally

Idioms about fine waves

After the waves, the former waves steal the sound; after the drizzle, the waves push the former waves behind the Yangtze River. Waves

Sentences about Small Waves

1. The blue tiles on the old roof are all hometown feelings carved in strokes, such as small waves in the heart, which spread to the morning and dusk layer by layer.

2. Lonely and lonely, I lay on a narrow boat, and gentle waves kept echoing in my ears.

3. In the autumn morning, the morning sun shines its light on the lake, and the breeze rises at first, and the fine waves jump, stirring up the lake with broken gold.

4. After I was left alone, I got out of the boat and looked hard at the bottom of the sea, but the shadow of the submarine volcano was gone. The blue sky is quietly reflected on the water, and only the soft waves are like silk pajamas swaying in the wind, knocking on the side of the boat tenderly. I lay on the bottom of the boat and closed my eyes, waiting for the surging tide to send me to the corresponding place. Haruki Murakami.

5. The morning sun shines its light on the lake, and the breeze rises at first, and the fine waves jump, stirring up the whole lake with broken gold.

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