Traditional Culture Encyclopedia - Traditional festivals - How to Write a Poem about Traditional Chinese Festivals

How to Write a Poem about Traditional Chinese Festivals

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The Lantern Festival

The Case of the Green Jade Yuanxi

(Song) Xin Qiji

The east wind releases thousands of flowers at night, and even more so, it blows down the stars like rain.

The BMW carries the fragrance of the road, the sound of the phoenix Xiao is moving, the light of the pot is turning, and the fish and dragons are dancing all night long.

The moth and snow willow gold strands, laughing and smiling dark fragrance to go.

They were looking for him, but when they looked back, he was at the end of the fire.

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Dragon Carrying Heads

The Journey to the Mountain of Jishang

Song Lu You Lu You (陆游).

Song - Lu You

Ji Shan He lofty, Zhejiang water soup soup, thousands of miles across the great wild, Goujian's desertion.

Spring rains make the mulberry and cudgel green, and autumn winds make the japonica rice fragrant.

Crab linden in the village, fish beams everywhere.

Pei put ten thousand ducks, and the garden covered with a thousand rows of ginger.

The sound of pounding and pestling is as loud as thunder, and the private debt exceeds the official warehouse.

The temple of Yu is a place of sacrifice, and the Lanting is a place of goblets.

Empty alleys and empty streets are used to watch ferry races, and inverted societies are used to watch theaters.

Items of plum ripe, picking day and night busy, green basket full of mountain road, do not count the lychee basket, the star sped into the Hou family, that the gold pay.

Brunner's Bamboo Shoots from Xianghu Lake, the seller of the three townships.

How to **** cook, perch three feet long.

The first time I saw the market, I saw a lot of sheep's cheese.

Mirror Lake Brassicas, no drought or locusts since Han.

The heavy building and the curved threshold are brimming with the light of the lake.

The boat is a car, and the small parasol covers the new makeup.

Shallow workshops and small streets, late at night, the silk reed.

My old man described this poem, presumptuous to follow the ancient music; I hate no Jiza listen, the great country wind great.

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Cold Food Festival