Poems for the Qingming Festival are as follows:
It rains heavily during the Qingming Festival, and pedestrians on the road want to die. May I ask where the restaurant is? The shepherd boy points to Xinghua Village in the distance.
Spring is fading and the grass is resting. The scenery in the guest house is the Qingming Festival again. In the small courtyard, people recall farewell at dusk. Falling red and hearing cries of crows everywhere. The mountains and rivers are so close that they are divided into Chu and Yue. The eyes are broken and the soul is lost, and the sound should be completely gone. The dream breaks and the heart breaks. The trumpet blows down the plum blossom moon.
When you are walking freely in the green fields of Fangyuan, spring comes into the distant mountains and green surroundings. Xing Zhuan Chao Hong passes through the willow alley, and he sits on the moss rock near the flowing water. Mo Ci was very drunk with wine, and was afraid that the wind and flowers would fly away. The weather is fine during the Qingming Festival, so you might as well travel without forgetting to return home.
On the Qingming Festival, peaches and plums smile, but in the wild fields and graves, there is only sorrow. Thunder shakes the sky and earth, dragons and snakes sting, and rain falls on the grass and trees in the countryside. People beg for sacrifices for their arrogant concubines, and noble men are burned to death for unjust marquises. The wise and foolish have known who they are for thousands of years, and their eyes are full of basil and grass. Qingming is a festival that expresses emotions about life and death.
Ten thousand points of scarlet will spit out the calyx, and the beauty will stand out from the world. The ancient temple was moved to plant a red gate. It’s cold food tomorrow, and it’s spring again. The thin and soft strips are only a few feet long, and Qianxun's origins are small. Green clouds cover the sun and the trees ring. After the child is born, remember the flower grower.
Fleas hurt spring dreams and rainy days, but the grass is even more vibrant. The internal officials gave Qingming fire at the beginning, and the prime minister distributed the money in vain. The purple streets are hissing and the red are shouting, and the green poplars are high and reflect the swing. Visitors remember the peaceful events and secretly rejoice that the scenery looks like it did in the past.
Pear blossoms bloom in the wind and rain, narrow curtains and small window screens. In front of the mood lamp, guests are sleeping beside me, thinking about the world. Three thousand feet of pure worry and hair on the temples, fifty years of prosperous spring dreams. Suddenly I saw someone's house, the willows separated the smoke and supported the eaves and teeth. There is one of the most painful things in the world: living in a foreign country in your later years.