The sound of firecrackers marks the end of the year, and the spring breeze brings warmth to Tusu.
The new year is not yet full of youth, and the grass buds are surprised to see in early February. The white snow is too late for the spring, so it flies through the trees in the garden.
The light rain on the sky street is as moist as crisp, and the color of grass looks far away but not up close.
Three or two branches of peach blossoms outside the bamboo are a prophet of the warmth of the spring river.
It rains every time during the yellow plum season, and frogs are everywhere in the grassy ponds.
The rustling west wind fills the courtyard with plants, and the flowers are cold and fragrant, and it is difficult for butterflies to come.
It is snowing in the Tianshan Mountains in May. There are no flowers but cold. I hear the willows breaking in the flute, but I have never seen the spring scenery.
Savages have no calendar and only know the four seasons with the crow of birds.