Cicadas sing in the west, and guests think of the south. I couldn't stand the dark temple shadow, so I poisoned my bald head.
His flight passed through the thick fog, and his pure voice was drowned in the world of wind. Who knows if he is still singing? Who will listen to me? ?
The poem of lime is clear and modest.
A thousand hammers cut deep mountains, and the fire burns like a fool.
Don't be afraid of broken bones and mud, and leave innocence in the world.
(Song) Wang Anshi's Plum Blossom
There are some plums in the corner, and cold ling opens them alone.
Knowing from afar is not snow, only Dimfragrance comes.
Zheng Xie Zhushi
Bamboo is not relaxed at all, its roots are firmly embedded in the cracks in the rocks.
After thousands of tortures and blows, it is still strong, whether it is the southeast wind or the northwest wind in winter, it can bear it and will still be tough and straight.