Ancient poems with the word "Hong"
Under the shadow of a little flying bird, green mountains and green waters, white grass, red leaves and yellow flowers
The swan geese cannot bear to listen to the sorrow, the clouds and mountains are like a guest's experience
Life is known everywhere How similar, it should be like a flying dragon stepping on snow and mud.
Occasionally, there are fingers and claws left on the mud, and Hongfei is counting the things.
When Gu Honghai came up, Chi Huang didn't dare to care.
When the wild goose is flying, its feathers must be kept in check.
The son is in battle and working hard in the wild.
The loving and caring people feel sorry for this widower.
Swan geese are flying and gathering in Zhongze.
The son built hundreds of barriers on the wall.
Although he works hard, he still lives in peace.
The wild geese are flying, whining and wailing.
This wise man calls me hard work.
That fool calls me arrogant.
In the outfield of Guhong, flying birds sing in the northern forest.
Ande Hongluan Yu looks at the person in his heart.
Qinghong plays in the river and pool,
The lonely goose gathers in Zhoujun.
It is the husband who is relegated and divorced, and his kindness is waiting for the spring river to rise.
Hongyang raises the green Minghe, and the dragon lurks in the heart of the clouds and rain.
The dense forest is flying with darkness, and the vast ze is roaring.
The flags fall to the north wind, and the frost chases the southern swans
I would like to be two swans and fly high.
When the geese leave the northern part of the Great Wall, they are in no man's land.
When will the swan geese arrive? There will be plenty of autumn water in the rivers and lakes.
The sky is long and the smoke is far away, full of hatred.
The news is that Yan Hong has returned.
Fragrant grass grows in the river,
Liu Yingwei bridges the road under the bridge.
Returning to Hongfei, walking in the clouds, beside the green mountain.
Fragrant grass grows in the river,
Liu Yingwei bridges the road under the bridge.
Returning to Hongfei, walking in the clouds, beside the green mountain.
Sahong wants to fly away infinitely,
Cheng Wuxiu cries at night.
Thanks to your kindness and your promise of life, I would like to throw a feather from Taishan.
The wild geese do not come, and the son travels far away, but his thoughts are not far away, just like in his life.
I miss the lingering dreams of the cold cicada, and my thoughts in Guihong, then listen to the night flute in Jiangcun.
If you give me more, I still have a lot more. I’m too tired from playing.