s another poem plays its rhyme
Poet: Wang Yan
Gas concentration in a hundred flowers and incense, soaring rural chat lines slow arm.
Spring is not the pot from the old, white light red Monte short wall.
Pingchou Green Wave harvest is near, the farmer of the Italian side triumphantly.
Wuchai fed Fortunately nothing, simply look at left turn Yun Fang.
Busy day in spring I find the long, warmed with wine, such as clean freak.
Hopanes food only through total self-pity, do-Man to kick Zhang. |
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