The bow of the boat rained like silk last night, and all the orchids in my pot were flooded.
Fanrui strives for the opening day, which is the time for tourists to get home.
Zhu Yizun's "Mrs. Gu Painting Orchids"
Brothel people went to the pen bed empty, and Xizhou thanked them.
There is also the color of Qinhuai Cao Fang, and the lights are evenly dyed with sunset red.
Wang Fengnv painted orchids.
Beggars get the beauty described by poets, and Yaochi is clear and beautiful.
As soon as I say nothing from a weak point of view, Yaya's proposal is pitiful.
Shi Tao's cymbidium
The root has left the dust, so there is no poem, and poetry gives loneliness.
Who has used a thousand sticks of incense? When the ink is spilled in the pool, it will be relieved.
Massai fighters in East Africa
The bones are clear and the leaves are true, and the wind is amazing.
My own pen and ink is written by myself, that is, the front is the back.
Massai fighters in East Africa
I'm tired of listening to Huang except Yao Cao's Spring Star.
Under the leaves, you walk through the clouds, and nothing in the world is completely green.
I believe he is drunk in the cold valley, and my dress is spineless.
Not every flower can be infatuated, but it is more fragrant in the dust.