"Four Criminals Cutting Plum Blossoms, Futian Wind Small"

The wind is small. Thinking of the breeze last night, the warmth is new.

The scorching sun shines on the streets and lanes.

Garden magpies. Dye verdant, don't come to the noise.

Empty and idle, children and children, innocent laughter.

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Quietly a young age. Memories are rippling, and the countryside is ethereal.

Among the green willow forests, it is earlier than the fisherman's diligence.

Family affection to old age. Let thousands of brigades linger and pray.

In front of the dream lamp, the mercy is like being there, and I am awake every year.

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