Poetry about harvest fruit picking is as follows:
"Moon on the Xijiang River·Walking on the Yellow Sand Road at Night"
Song Dynasty·Xin Qiji
Bearing Moon Farewell Branches The magpies are startled, and the cicadas chirp in the breeze in the middle of the night.
The fragrance of rice flowers tells of a good harvest, and the sound of frogs sounds.
Seven or eight stars are outside the sky, and two or three points of rain are in front of the mountain.
In the old days, by the forest of Maodian Society, I suddenly saw a bridge over a stream when the road turned.
In the autumn fields, the sun-drenched rice fields cluster into a golden ocean, rustling in the autumn wind, curved like a crescent moon sickle, gathering the joy of harvest.
The neat rice stubble is the string of the earth, singing softly accompanied by the cries of crickets, half falling in the autumn sun, and half bathed in starlight.
"Compassion for the Farmers"
Li Shen of the Tang Dynasty
At noon on the day of hoeing, sweat dripped from the soil.
Who knows that every meal on the plate is hard work.
When I was a child, the first ancient poem I came into contact with was Li Shen's "Compassion for the Farmers". It can be said that it was passed down orally and became a household name.
Every grain of rice on the table and every millet of rice in the fields was obtained with the sweat of the farmers. It is hard-earned.
"Farmer"
Tang Dynasty·Yan Renyu
In the middle of the night, he called his children to plow at dawn,
The oxen were weak and began to walk hard.
At that time, people did not realize the hardships of farming.
It was said that the grain in the fields grew by itself.
For farmers, the most beautiful things in the world are the blushing sorghum, the grinning corn grains, the yellow corn kernels and the smiling millet?
So, even if they need to plow the fields in the middle of the night, they will work tirelessly without saying a word about tiredness or suffering.