For example, plum blossoms in the Song Dynasty, Wang Anshi counted several plum blossoms in the corner, and hanling opened them alone. I knew from a distance that it wasn't snow, because there was a smell coming. Or a few plums in the corner, cold ling opened alone. I knew from a distance that it wasn't snow, because there was a smell coming. Everything is fine.
The rise of modern poetry. It blooms once a month, and it refreshes the record of life, regardless of spring or autumn. On that day, the flowers bloomed, comparable to the beauty of the countryside. Nowadays, the flowers are withered, the fragrance remains the same, and the loofah stands beside it and climbs the green vine, which just constitutes a picture full of artistic conception. It is simple and simple, and meets the old and the new. Life is endless in the cycle, month after month. Good, too.