Spring has come, the lotus pond is green, duckweed wakes up, and it is another season of life, full of spring.
The pear blossoms are white and the swallows are coming. The busyness of the new season began to flourish again.
Pink peach stone, thank you, Residual Red. The embryo of the fruit was hidden in the sun and slept soundly. Peony is red and the country is beautiful.
Grain Rain, all loves. Strangers are green, mulberry leaves are crazy. Dai Sheng birds, who have been waiting for a year, are singing.
All over the mountains, cuckoos are everywhere. The dream of the valley has been lit and the years of the river have been dyed red. Seasonal farming is beneficial in Grain Rain.
Poetry 2:
Spring is coming, cuckoo cuckoo, industrious villagers are holding old cows, carrying plowshares and singing the songs of spring ploughing.
Cleisthenes, an old cow, sang his plowshare loudly, turned over one place after another, sowed the seeds of the new season and looked forward to the harvest of the next season.
Fertile black soil, a drop of sweat, smashed eight petals. Silently telling the hardships of life, witnessing the ancestors facing the loess with their backs to the sky.
Golden rape flowers attract countless people, and butterflies and bees bend their backs. The spring breeze laughs at Grain Rain's singing, and the wrinkles in the old farmer's eyes produce the most beautiful flowers. Grain Rain's dream of seasonal sowing is appropriate.
Poetry 3:
Grain Rain dripped into the ground, bringing longing and comfort. The ideal seed is buried in the soil. Germinate in the field of hope and grow into pride.
In the fields of spring, Grain Rain is an endless imagination. Willow leaves are my long hair and lotus leaves are my skirts.
Peony is my face, and camellia adorns my smile. Blue and white is my most beautiful cheongsam, and the oil-paper umbrella dyed red against azaleas stretches obliquely and comes slowly.
Ancient porcelain capital, long rain lane. Have you ever seen an elegant woman walk? Hong Yan smiled at her. On this rainy night in the south of the Yangtze River, she rested her literary dream and let go of her forever young heart.
Poetry 4:
In the Grain Rain, standing in front of the mirror of time, I saw a frost-like texture like Schistosoma attached to my temple.
Through the ocean of time, I choked repeatedly, unable to hide my sadness, and finally I couldn't help it.
The dam in my heart suddenly collapsed, and I didn't just face you with sunshine. Let me be myself.
I will pour out all hidden grievances, and then greet the new dawn tomorrow with a brand-new attitude, Grain Rain and Grain Rain.
Poetry 5:
Grain Rain, Grain Rain, and so on, to be skilled and timely in the green field and the border field.
Wheat. Wheat. That is Haizi's wheat, which is the support of reproduction, thin and green.
Cheerful in the wind at dawn, from a distance, a large piece of rape flowers is extremely yellow and dull, and there is no carving.
The grand and delicate yellow is the March eyes sent by the sun, peonies are in full bloom, and spring grass is overgrown. Unfamiliar with work, making excuses for words.