There are 100 poems about flying flowers and the moon.

The north wind blows white grass, and eight In the snow crosses Tatar's sky. Life is like a dream, and a bottle is returned in January, and it will last forever. Months are only similar year after year. I wonder who cut the thin leaves. In February, the spring scenery is like scissors. The moon shines on your seat, and the Millennium touches my clothes. The moonlight in the pine forest, the crystal stone in the stream, the whisper of bamboo when the sweeper comes home, the lotus leaf in front of the fishing boat, when you are here, my friend's prince, spring has passed, what does it matter? Woodenhead resigned from the Yellow Crane Tower, fireworks went down to Yangzhou in March and set sail alone.