To the green hills, the grass and trees are idle, and the dogs bark a few times and smoke in a few places.
In the sound of another autumn, the rooster cries and wakes up from the clouds, the sky is high, and the firewood is half covered and sad alone.
It was too late to break the five, and the people in the village didn't know that it was the right time for the wind to buckle the firewood and the moon to set.
In the Qingming season, Fangfei catkins fly, and the cuiwei cow returns to the clouds from afar.
White clouds fly, safflower reflects cuiwei, Fangfei is infinitely good, Mu Chunhui.
The green mountains reflect the green and slight, into the heart, and the world is red in April.
In April, Fangfei green leaf fertilizer, Mu Chunhui, flower rain at night, thousands of miles of rivers and mountains are verdant.
The east wind is powerless to send Chunhui, full of Fangfei can't bear to return, looking at the cuiwei egret flying into the clouds.
I don't want to return, look at Yunfei, no one appreciates it, Chunhui will accompany me back.
A touch of the slanting sun shines on the cuiwei, the breeze sends me into the firewood, and the fragrant flowers are all over the ground without care, only looking forward to Chunhui returning with a smile.
A tree is fragrant and fragrant, and the spring is bright, and the east wind enters the night.
Primrose Hui, Dou Fangfei, Cuiwei heard the bird's song in the depths, and did not realize that he had returned to the painting.
The east wind enters the crape myrtle overnight, and the depths of the cuiwei are dyed with thousands of mountains, and the spring glow reflects the sun.
The white clouds are flying, the mountains and lakes are scarce, and the source of Mo Dao is full of spring.
Zhengfangfei, the scenery of Chunhui is infinitely good, and the clouds return.
Mu Chunhui, the birds are drunk and fragrant, and the smoke in the depths of Cui Wei enters the clouds.
I forgot about the machine, no one swept the ground in the depths of Cuiwei, and Hui returned alone.
The lake light in the depths of Cuiwei is scarce, and the fragrance is infinitely good, full of spring.
Drinking drunk among the flowers, full of spring and can't bear to return, waking up in the east wind at night, a round of bright moon shines on the cuiwei.
A wisp of warmth, peach and plum fragrance reflect the sun, after the new rain, the breeze sends cool into the curtain.
With the wind, blooming cui slightly, infinitely good, thousands of red and purple Mu Chunhui.
The moon is fragrant, the sun reflects the crape myrtle, the drizzle blows, and the clouds return to the depths of the cuiwei.
Chunhui is not ashamed and useless, the four seasons are the same, thousands of miles away, and the white clouds are in the poem.
The sound of birds is sparse in the depths of the mountains, and no one sweeps the ground all over the place, only Chunhui returns alone.
The white clouds fly in the depths, the breeze enters the crape myrtle all the way, the fragrant flowers are infinitely good, and the mountain flowers are full of spring.
The mountain flowers are full of flowers, reflecting the sun, the scenery is infinitely good, and the poetry and painting are drunk and green.
Ask for immortals to go to Penglai Island, ask if it is difficult to return to the Jade Emperor Palace, what is the limit of the scenery can not stay, and the beauty of the world is endless.
Blowing mud, the new nest is not stable in spring, and the double swallows are murmuring across the stream.
Liang Shang whispered softly, willow silk, led to the spring nest to build, pecked new mud to make up for the old prison.
The spring breeze is willow green, whispering to express heartfelt feelings, the new nest builds a dream of double flying, and the mud fragrance accompanies me.
Where to go, when will the mud cow enter the sea, double flying birds, and take the spring light to Yanshan.
The tandoor cooks wine in the new nest of magpies are busy, the willows are green, and they whisper to the heart.
Another year, the front of the eaves returned to the swallow to build a thousand good, ten thousand sweet.
The spring breeze swallow cuts the willow silk long, whispers and falls asleep, where to find the new nest on the beam, and the mud and water are busy building nests.
The nest is in the month, there are fish frolicking under the eaves of the double flying butterfly, you can remember the old swallow perch.
Drifting into the soil, there is a nest to build a new nest, and in the spring, I see the double swallows, and there are more murmurs than wings.
whispering the spring breeze willow eyebrows, the new nest on the beam can't bear to fall and fly.
The water is looking for a new swallow, and the nesting king is not smiling, and he is going to the end of the world.
What is ugly when the house is empty, how can the soil be poor, the whispering is inexhaustible, and the old swallow returns to recognize the old man.
The mud fragrance is late, don't be too late, and see the double swallows in the spring, and the whispers can be known.
Around the beams, cut willow smoke, the new nest under the eaves spring dance.
Wandering to find the old base, there are warblers murmuring in the spring nest to build, pecking the mud incense into the poem.
The birds are always in spring, the mud fragrance dream is not empty, and the most murmuring is the west and east of the winged swallow.
There is no need to guess the new nest in the spring of the mud, and the old swallow returns to whisper and tell the feelings.
Sue acacia, spring breeze willow branches, new nests are built today, waiting for the return date.
The spring breeze catkins fly, calling people to return, and the new nest builds the mud fragrance into the cuiwei.
A few jackdaws nest old trees, new mud, double flying butterflies under the eaves, and the spring light to Yanxi.
The mud and grass are still light in spring, the nest tree warbler is not in the night, and the swallow goes to the building to whisper and complain.
Yan wandered, came into a dream, and is still there, and can't bear to build a golden platform.
The return of the nest bird has been west, the small bridge is flowing and the flowers are muddy, whispering in the spring breeze, and the swallows are flying over the willow embankment.
Zheng Huixian Zheng Huixian Chinese art