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Poetry about farm tools (five-character quatrains or seven-character poems)
Song. Wang Anshi's Poem on Agricultural Tools by He Shengyu.

The morning sun shines in people's hands, and the evening sun returns to people's waists. There is no invitation today.

Min Nong

When weeding is at noon, sweat drips down the soil. Who knows that every meal is hard?

Ancient tombs plow fields, and pine and cypress destroy them for wages.

The tiller forgets his plow and the hoe forgets his hoe.

And though strong women have bent to the ploughing, east and west the furrows all are broken down?.

It's hard to pick diamonds and waste plows and hoes, but the blood is flowing and the ghost is dry.

Only when the awn seeds have passed the snow can the grass begin to fertilize outside the Ili River.

I don't feel lazy about it, and it's too short to waste the lotus hoe.

I also think of the urgency of the official, and I would rather know that the lotus hoes the labor.

It's useless to hoe the fields, so I can't bear to escape from my hometown.

Five acres of border vegetable land, Qiu Lai Rihe hoe.

I took the trouble to rush in the rain, and the small hoe brought medicine and mud.