half a stream is green, and a thousand trees are red. Wild crossing willow rain, fragrant pool wandering lotus wind. In the short song, a few lines of snow geese are painted in Pingzhu; The long piano is in a unique position, writing a lonely rainbow in the distant mountains. Take a cup to cook wine, and dry it outside the pot; Help drunk and ponder, and you will become famous in your dreams. Poetry across Wan Li, Xiling road of eight thousand; Fu washed thousands of rivers, the twelve peaks of Wushan. When the book breaks the autumn boudoir, it scares the birds under it; Words wake up the pillow, and hate the faint stings. Zheng cong Han Pei, cold letter off the month; Lonely Qin Zheng, rustling wind. In the wilderness of thunder, the sound vibrates north of Huaipu; Jathyapple Plain, east of Qinghui Chuyun. Ruanlang watches chess, and the stone of emptiness is clear; And Jing Fang crane, Yan Yang doctor's pine. In Nong Yu Xiao, Du Yu was made in three times; Shaw History flute, a song is called Lapras. Qing Qing Hao Hao, known as the summer palace; Sad and sad, who sings the palace of cold? Scholar spirit, box sound three feet sword; A strong man sings loudly, with six bows hanging around his waist. Don't talk about the purple clothes in the temple, and talk about Tian She Pulsatilla. People say that there are nine schools of music and books, and I say three Wu languages to laugh. The stars move to the north, holding a hundred lines of sentences; Fighting in the south, swallowing the rainbow.
I'm very surprised. Please listen to the Pavilion of Grass. It's not too fast, it's the wind of tea.