Only poetry

Cold bees picking chrysanthemum pistils

Tang Gengmao

Swimming under the clear sky, looking for fragrance in the chrysanthemums.

Bring the sound to the pistil, and even the shadow is in the fragrance.

Go and live in the residual fog, and follow the wind up and down.

In the end, I feel ashamed of the different butterflies, not with the dream soul. Tong.

Bee

Li Shangyin of the Tang Dynasty

The Xiaoyuan Huachi is rotten and the passage is open, and the back door and the front threshold are endless thoughts.

Mi Fei Yao Fine talents are revealed, and Zhao Hou's body is as light as leaning against the wind.

The red wall is lonely and the honey is gone, and the green curtain is far away from the foggy nest.

The pink butterfly in the Qingling Mountains retreats from its hatred and stays forever. We meet in the middle of February.

Bee

Tang Luoyin

Regardless of the flat land or the top of the mountain, the infinite scenery is occupied.

Collect hundreds of flowers After the honey becomes honey, for whom does it work hard and for whom does it taste sweet?