The pace of life and work in today's world is very fast. Many people get up early and go to bed late, running for a living regardless of wind and rain, and working for the future without sleep or food. But no matter how busy you are at work, you still need sunshine; no matter how hard life is, don't cry bitterly. Make yourself a cup of tea and relax your mood. Everything will pass. I believe there will be a spring breeze after the winter rain.
Chinese people like to drink tea, which not only quenches their thirst, but also cultivates their moral character. Quietly watching the pieces of tea tumbling and settling in the clear cup again and again, the water changing from strong to light, and the pot of tea changing from fragrant to tasteless, it reflects the journey of life from having many desires to wanting nothing.
Li Qingzhao, the poet, once said: "When the cardamom tips are boiled in water, it should not be divided into tea. It is good to relax with poems and books on the pillow, and the scenery in front of the door is good when the rain comes." Yes, brew a pot of good tea and hold it A good book, enjoying the beauty in the bright spring light, how comfortable and contented it is. Below are twelve ancient poems describing tea, please enjoy them together.
1. Shanquan Jiancha is pregnant with Bai Juyi, Tang Dynasty
Sit and drink the cool water, watching the simmering dust.
Wuyou holds a bowl and sends it to tea lovers.
2. One to seven-character poem·Tea Yuanzhen Tang
Tea,
fragrant leaves and buds.
I admire poets and monks.
Crafted white jade and woven red yarn.
Cho-fried yellow pistil color, the bowl turns to koji dust flowers.
The queen of the night invites you to accompany the bright moon, and the morning brings you to the morning glow.
I have washed away all the people of the past and present without getting tired, and I will know how to praise after being drunk.
3. "Seven Bowls of Tea Song" by Lu Tongtang
One bowl moistens the throat, two bowls break the loneliness,
three bowls search the dry intestines, There are only five thousand volumes of writing.
Four bowls of light sweat, life is uneven,
all dispersed into the pores.
Five bowls clear the muscles and bones, and six bowls clear the spirits.
I can't eat seven bowls,
I can only feel the breeze blowing in my armpits.