Shuicao Temple is a matter of Laba.
Safe. Gu sleepwalking
The blood near Qingshui pond is phosphorus, and the horse outside Zhengyangmen is dust.
Just think that Shuiyue has no new hatred and is happy that an old friend has come to Yunshan.
Fine wax is not today, and leisure is like rebirth.
Self-injury, white hair, wandering, a petal of incense, a towel of tears.
Poems by Yoyo Laba
The stove is open and waiting.
When you fill your stomach with dry wood.
A bunch of flames jumped up.
The corners of the grain are together
In a boiling pot
Nuts were peeled off to join in the fun.
Nostalgia comes out of porridge.
What came out of the fire is gone.
Warm sunshine overflowed in the air in the cold.
The twelfth lunar month in poor days is a patchwork of happiness.
Today's twelfth lunar month is a selective tasting.
Different memories flash in the same mood.
Today, my mother cooked Laba porridge again.
Told me to ask for a bowl, and I saw it.
Mom's hair is more white and less black.
My tears hit the porridge bowl.
I pulled out a white hair for my mother many years ago.
Mom at that time was really beautiful.
Grass shivering in the cold wind
Conveyed the affection of Laba to me.
There are several such days.
Who recalls the past in nostalgia?
Who grasps the present in cherishing?
And the impending separation.
Impressionable hearts often forget their pain.
Snowflakes fly and my heart falls.
Flying down in this Laba.
Laba festival couplets
Yin Yue moss;
Jiaping in summer.
Ashes blow to the north;
Plum calyx folded to the south.
E society rewards god with drums;
Ding Nong divided the meat and tried Luan Dao.
The colorful daylily that invaded Ling Xue also;
There are thin strips in the leaking spring.
Monk Charlotte divided Laba porridge;
There are Shangyuan lanterns in Wuzhong City.
Sacrificing tigers to welcome cats follows old habits;
A new theory of sheep's Ralph.
Three generations of English, aspiring to catch;
A year has passed and you have returned to the wax museum.