This is the most beautiful season of the year, far better than the late spring of the green willow.
I love the beauty on the east bank of the West Lake, and I can't get enough of it, especially the white sand embankment under the green poplar.
The bamboo forest is sonorous, the washerwoman returns, and the lotus leaves are swaying to get on the canoe.
The clothes are wet and the apricot blossoms are raining, and the face is not cold.
If you want to ask pedestrians where to go, your eyebrows are shining.
Sometimes it rains at three or two, and there are ten five flowers everywhere.
It's not a pity to get wet, but I hope it won't be against my will.
Spring spring might as well give it a rest, and the autumn sun can stay on the hills for a long time.