The white snow does not look like it. The difference in the air is like spreading salt, but it is not like the catkins blowing up due to the wind.
Bai Xue dislikes the late spring, so she goes through the courtyard to make flying flowers.
I don’t know who cuts out the thin leaves. The spring breeze in February is like scissors.
The thread in the hands of a loving mother, the clothes on the body of a wanderer.
The sand in the desert is like snow, and the moon in Yanshan Mountain is like a hook.
It is as big as a goose feather and as dense as floating jade chips.
The flying current flows down three thousand feet, it is suspected that the Milky Way has set in the sky.
The floating clouds wander around, and the setting sun expresses the feelings of old friends.
I shed tears when I am grateful for the flowers, and I hate the sadness of other birds.
Suddenly a spring breeze came overnight, and thousands of pear trees bloomed.
Poor on the third night of September, the dew is like pearls and the moon is like a bow.
The old man is brave and ambitious. In his old age, the martyr is full of ambition.
Two orioles sang in the green willows, and a row of egrets ascended to the blue sky. The window contains the snow of Qianqiu in Xiling, and the boat thousands of miles away from Dongwu is moored at the door.
The flowers on the Rijiang River are as red as fire, and the water of the river is as green as blue in spring.
How many leisure and sorrows are there? A river of tobacco, the city is full of wind and rain, and the plums are yellow and rainy.
The sky is like a dome, covering the four fields. The sky is blue, the fields are vast, and the grass is blown by the wind, and cattle and sheep can be seen low.
Asking you how much sorrow you can have is like a river of spring water flowing eastward.
The swallow grass is as green as silk, and the green branches of Qin mulberry are low.
Zheng Peng leaves Hansai, and the returning geese enter Hu Tian.
The flying flowers are as light as dreams, and the boundless rain is as thin as sorrow.