Chinese New Year's Eve. One. The court is clean and yang, and the façade of Lianxin is red.
Chunhua is a song, and the years are several layers of wind.
Wipe the eyebrows lightly, and welcome the dream of Lion.
Frequently toast to the wine, and quietly ask who is the same?
Two. The taste of Tu Su is manga, and the sound of firecrackers is opened.
The peach charm drives away the old obscurity, and the spring rhyme dyes the new.
And borrow the wine in the cup and forget the earthly name for a while.
The blueprint dream is still far away, and the bright moon is moving forward together.
Three. A strategy of the east wind, the mountains and rivers are new.
The peach is delicate and dewy, and the willow is a native of the old city.
On the day of Angelica in my heart, the dust has passed in front of the door.
After the flowers withered, there was no more spring.
New year. One. Tu Su has a taste on the high platform, and the new wish is planted by hand in the New Year.
Helplessly, the north wind bullies the old, and the plum blossoms only bloom in a dream.
Two. The year has opened the Yuan Qi dream invited, and the light moves with the curtain like a new trend.
Push the door to accept the spring breeze, ** flower branches slowly shake.
Three. The new year is new and the peach blossoms have bloomed.
Who plays the spring tune Shaoguang Yu, a wisp of east wind and ten thousand fold waves.
Four. The cannon is like a flower blooming all over the ground, and the willow thread is wrapped around the spring breeze.
Woven into the eyes of the mountains and rivers rhyme, is about the double purple swallow.
Mountain Walk. White clouds streaked across the top of the mountain, leaving a few wisps of wind in their wake.
The mist winds around the bluestone, and the pine needles weave the bird's sound.
Two lines of broken steps and zero secluded paths, an idle heart as an old man.
The troubles of the world once lingered in my ears, but now I suddenly turned into nothingness.
Chinese New Year's Eve. The hustle and bustle is silent, and the night is tied away from the love dream.
The wind pulls the window screen to move the moon shadow, and the cup shakes the turbid wine to move the red dust.
Now pay the new city road alone, and walk with the old day.
laughed and said that Xianyun had not yet arrived, and the front of the stage was full of stars.
Spring. Jiuqu Qingxi is wrinkled like a yarn, and the new branch pours a pot of tea.
Push the window to get the smell of Shaoguang, and raise your eyes to collect the old tree buds.
Thousands of miles of rivers and mountains return to the swallow scissors, and the embankment willow line is the end of the world.
The east wind should be a naughty ghost, teasing the peach blossoms and apricot blossoms.
The same must be drunk (into the sentence).
One. Returning to the same drunken home, the red dust is endless.
This autumn, I looked at Xiao Xiao Ye and fell into the mountains and turned into sand.
Two. The moonlight is like a flower, and it is the same drunken house.
Drunk but sad 30,000 wisps, this life is only subtracted and not added.
Three. Wind, frost, thunderstorms, stars and clouds, and warm feelings along the way.
Returning to the same drunken house, there is a full moon and a lack in the cup.
Four. The sunset is shining, and the forest is full of noise jackdaws.
Don't be surprised that the years will eventually pass, and you will return to the same drunken house.
About the Author. 
Xu Shengdai (pen name: Tianya Guke), Han nationality, native of Beiqi Town, Yangdong District, Yangjiang City, Guangdong, president of Lingxi Poetry Society, and editorial board member of "Huazhou Poetry Garden". His works were selected for "Pastoral", "Poetry is the Most Beautiful Struggler Song", and "Shanghai Poetry Leaves". Since childhood, he has been fond of literature, music, calligraphy and painting, and chess, especially classical Chinese poetry.