No matter underground or on the mountain, where there are flowers in full bloom, there are bees busy.
After picking flowers into honey, who will work hard for whom and who will be sweet?
Swimming in the clear sky, looking for fragrance among chrysanthemums.
Bring the sound to the core and shadow it in the incense.
Living in the fog, rising and falling with the wind.
Finally, I am ashamed of being a butterfly and don't communicate with my dreams.
The small garden and pool are rotten, and there are endless thoughts in front of the back door.
A thin waist is better than dew, and a light back leans against the wind.
Red walls and lonely cliffs are full of honey, and blue curtains are empty.
The butterfly celebrating its age will meet in mid-February.
Liu Fei wears flowers like an arrow and flies like a meteor.
A small body can carry loads, and thin wings can ride the wind.
I have been flying among thousands of flowers, and I have never had a half-day leisure in my life.
Everyone in the world praises honey for its delicious taste, but who cares if it blocks the bottom of the pot?