Poems about hands

The chanting hand-Han Wo's wrist is white and ruddy, with bamboo shoots and buds, and the piano is tuned to draw lines, which is sharp and oblique. Twist your temples on your back and gently and evenly line your face on the mirror. Looking back at the embroidered curtains in the past, I vaguely saw the golden car. In the back garden, I smiled at my peers, picking weeds and folding flowers. The maid in green has slender hands, and the new Chang 'e gives birth to a toad. Qin Taoyu's ten-fingered jade is slender, not romantic. Luan mirror skillfully combs, painting the floor and looking at the bead curtain. The golden cup is warm, but the silver duck is not fragrant. The clay figurine is ugly because the scissors are too cold.