"Li Ping Konghou Yin" Li He
Wu Si, Shutong and Zhang Gaoqiu, the blank sky condenses and the clouds are not flowing.
Jiang'e cries about the sorrow of the bamboo girl, and Li Ping plays the konghou in China.
The broken jade in Kunshan screams as a phoenix, and the hibiscus weeps and the fragrant orchid smiles.
The cold light melts in front of the twelve doors, and the twenty-three silk threads move the purple emperor.
Where Nuwa refines stones to mend the sky, the stones break the sky and make Qiu Yu startle.
I dreamed of going to Kunshan to teach the goddess, and the old fish danced the thin dragon dance.
Wu Zhi sleepless and leans against the osmanthus tree, flying wet and cold rabbits sideways with bare feet.
"Henan Prefecture's December Musical Poems? December" Li He
The sun's feet are lightly red, and the thin frost does not disappear under the osmanthus branches.
The weather is vaguely warm and the harsh winter has passed, and the long days and long nights have passed.
"The King of Qin Drinks" Li He
The King of Qin rode a tiger and traveled around the eight extremes, his sword shining in the sky turned blue.
The sound of Xihe knocking on the glass made the ashes fly all over the ancient and modern times.
The leader drinks wine and invites wine stars, and the golden trough plays the pipa at night.
Dongting rain comes to play the sheng, and the drunken moon makes the moon go backwards.
Yinyunzhizhuyao Palace is bright, and the palace gate leader reports an update.
The jade phoenix in the flower house has a charming and ferocious sound, the sea silk red text has a light and clear fragrance, and the yellow goose has danced for thousands of years.
The wax smoke of the immortal candle tree is light, and the Qingqin is drunk with tears.
"Song of the Old Man Picking Jade" by Li He
When picking jade, the water must be green, and the steps are swaying while carving.
I am hungry and cold, and the dragon is worried. The water in the blue stream is not pure.
In the rainy night, I eat wild rice on the hillside, and the cuckoo bleeds from the mouth and the old man sheds tears.
The water of the Blue River hates living people, and I hate the stream after a thousand years of death.
The cypresses on the leaning mountain are roaring in the wind and rain, and the rope hanging from the foot of the spring is green.
The white house in the cold village is dedicated to the baby, and the intestines are hanging on the stone slabs of the ancient terrace.
"The Sluggish Rain in Chongyi" Li He
Whose family is here to feel the autumn of Chang'an.
In the prime of life, there is hatred, and weeping in dreams brings about gray hair.
The thin horse's fodder is lost to the grass, and the raindrops float in the cold ditch.
The ancient curtains in Nangong are dark, and the wet scenery is passed down.
My home is thousands of miles away, with the clouds at my feet and the sky to the east.
When I sleep in sorrow, I sleep on my sword box, and when I sleep in the guest room, I dream of becoming a marquis.