ancient style poetry
Fu Yuan title _set_
题集福院
Xu Nan
Song Xi bamboo dock-hidden village, the line began to make cedar shade door.
Spring is not a bird sings there thinking, a thousand mountains are green burn trace.
Zican Suli dust for a long time to warm smile with Chan Seng language.
Incense bottles of three decades, read a few people here towards dusk.
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