Some poems about rural scenery.

Some poems about rural scenery are as follows:

The auspicious day of the ecliptic began to turn cloudy, and the square pond was full of spring. The fallen flower welcomes February, and the tree stands at thirty. Childe can stay, Wuyang is easy to understand. Why worry about the darkness at night? Hold a candle for the city.

There is a reed sailing on the clear lake. It is as happy as Zhang Zhi. Give me presents and West Lake music, and drive my hometown back to Zhaotang. Madmen always boast when they return, and the more the city of kings is, the more foggy it is. The beauty of this letter is not my land, unlike the West Lake, which is my home.

The Fish Weng River is decorated with a new Fan Lijing. Mulberries in gloomy forests are purple, and the rice on the mountain surface belongs to Miao Qing. Building a house by the cloud, divided into north and south, is half drunk in every life. I don't hate the way back to the west village. There are flying fireflies before the trip.

Lake and pond are separated from each other, while Tian She cooks cold and smokes late. The loyal minister who blocked the road was superior in skill and called for buying a fishing boat on the road. Two songs about crossing the lake and pond in light rain. When it rains on the West Lake Bridge, the four mountains are full of smoke and the scenery is uneven. White clouds suddenly passed through the green forest, and a corner of the sunset fell to congratulate the prison shrine.

The lake bridge leans to the east and west of the moon, and the high city leaks drums and spreads the night. Fishing boats travel on the sand at night, and the reeds rustle. The lake bridge is misty and rainy in the north and south, and people on both sides of the river close early. I don't know what I hate, but a voice can always break my soul. The world is too big to be underestimated, and there is no crisis in Tibet itself. Autumn is full of fragrant rice, and sorrow will be safe.

The tools of the lake bridge are inclined to the moon, and the high city leaks drums for three nights. Fishing boats wear sand at night and reeds rustle. The lake bridge is misty and rainy in the north and south, and people on both sides of the river close early. I don't know what I hate, but I can always be fascinated by it. The world is too big to be underestimated, and there is no crisis in Tibet itself. Autumn is full of fragrant rice, and sorrow will be safe.