Go back to the house, make a cup of tea, hold a book of poetry, listen to the snow by the window, and pursue the romance of the ancients.

The shadow is sparse and the water is shallow, and the dark fragrance floats in the dusk of the moon

Tomorrow after tomorrow, tomorrow is so many.

The spring breeze is only affectionate and bitter, and the red, tender and green always want poetry.

落尽琼花天不惜，封它梅蕊玉无香。

城间雪色明如素，岁寒亦知有清欢

夜晚月亮卧在云层之上，我赏着夜景，就像野鹿一样自由

Suddenly, I saw the cold plum tree, and the flowering Han waterfront.
I don't know that the spring is early, and I suspect that I am a bead maker.

Only because of the end of spring, keep the pear blossoms.

The painting hall gets up in the morning to report the snowflakes.
The high roller shutter looks at Jiarui, and the bright color is far from the maze.

Winter Ying, one year old, snow falls, there is joy

The maple red layer rises from the smoke, and the moonlight by the white lake contains.

Looking back halfway through my life, the light boat has passed over the Ten Thousand Mountains

When the wind blows the snow, the two white heads are sentimental and full of joy and happiness.

May this life be old and gentle, and the white clouds will not envy the fairy land.

36,000 hectares, the jade pot is cold. Yu Ling sealed, Qi Yuan folded Langyu.

May you have a warm scarf, gloves and a happy smile this winter.

There are a few plums in the corner, and Ling Han opens it alone.

The boy listened to the rain song upstairs. Red candle dim tent. Listen to the rain in the middle of the boat. The river is wide and the clouds are low, and the broken geese are called the west wind.