The peaches and plums do not say anything, but they are in their own way.

The peaches are young and their flowers are burning.

Three or two peach blossoms outside the bamboo are the duck prophets of the warmth of the spring river.

On this day last year, in this door, the faces of people and peach blossoms reflected each other's red.

I don’t know where the human face is,

The peach blossoms still smile in the spring breeze.

The beauty of April in the world is gone, and the peach blossoms in the mountain temple are beginning to bloom.

The water in Peach Blossom Pond is a thousand feet deep, not as deep as Wang Lun’s love for me.