Peach blossoms are everywhere in spring, and ducks in the lower reaches of Taohuaqiao are idle.
The woodcutter sings outside the peach grove, and the white clouds miss the wild people.
Spring poetry is in full swing, and I am busy enjoying the Dongfeng peach blossom.
If you send a poem to spring, it will be like a willow flower.
If you give this life a bright moon, half clouds and half defects.
Drink 3,000 glasses of wine with you and get drunk playing the pipa.
Drinking peach blossom tears with you will become a sonnet.