Praise the teacher's ancient poems with silent dedication

Cicada dies in spring, and every night the candle cries dry. Spinning silk is like a cicada pupa to benefit others, burning oneself like a candle to illuminate others' whole poems.

Li Shangyin's untitled time was long before I met her, but even longer after we broke up.

It was a long time ago that I met her, but since we separated, the time has become longer, the east wind is blowing and a hundred flowers are blooming.

Silkworms in spring will weave until they die, and candles will drain the wick every night.

In the morning, she saw her hair cloud changing in the mirror, but she bravely faced the cold of the moonlight with her evening song.

There are not many roads to Pengshan. Oh, Bluebird, listen! -Give me what she said! .