Dawn of spring
Sleeping sickness in spring unconsciously broke the morning, and the chirping of birds disturbed my sleep.
How many flowers fall after a stormy night.
2. The most intimate and simple poem: "Passing the Old Village"
Passing through the village of the old man
This old friend prepared a delicious meal and invited me to his hospitable farm.
Green Woods surround the village and green hills are located outside the city.
Open the window facing the valley vegetable garden and pass the glass to talk about crops.
Please come here to see chrysanthemums when the ninth festival comes.
3. The most meteorological poem: A Letter from Dongting Lake to Premier Zhang.
Message from Dongting Lake to Premier Zhang.
The autumn water rises and almost blends with the shore, mixing water and sky with the sky.
Ozawa's water vapor transpiration on the cloud soil is white, and the waves seem to shake the whole Yueyang.
I'm going to cross the water to find a boat and paddle. It's a shame to return home in the sacred age.
Sitting around watching other people's hard river fishing can only envy the fish caught in the fish.
4. The saddest poem: From a berth in Tonglu to a friend in Yangzhou.
From a berth in Tonglu to a friend in Yangzhou.
Monkeys whimper in the dark mountains, and the river rushes in the dark.
The wind on both sides of the strait rustled the branches and leaves, and the moonlight reflected on the river, a boat on a river.
Jiande's scenery is good, but it's not my hometown. I still miss my old friends in Yangzhou.
Recalling those two lines of tears that I couldn't restrain, I looked at the west side of the west bank and sent sadness to Yangzhou.
5. The most charming poem: Sleeping at night in Jiande.
Night parking on Jiande River.
Stop the boat in a foggy small state, when new worries come to the guest's heart.
The vastness of the wilderness is deeper than trees, and the moon is very close to the moon.
6. The most helpless poem: "Return to Nanshan at the end of the year"
On returning to Nanshan at the end of the year
Don't write to the North Yard again, let me go back to the old hut in the old Nanshan.
I have no reason to decide to give up my point of view. My old and many sick friends have stopped practicing.
The frequency of white hair is that people are getting more and more every day, and spring is coming to force them to die.
Full of sadness, tossing and turning, the pine forest is empty under the moon.