Song Lu you ping Ming wins the horse out of the west gate: Chen Zhu Lao Huai is not more in touch with the world. Think of me as this day. The wind is blowing in the north and the frost is heavy. Slightly wet and easy to dry sand soft road. It's easy to wake up when you're drunk, and it's cold in Kuilou in the month, and you can't cover yourself with cloth. You sit at night and wait for the morning, especially for farmers. It's a sunny day. Sitting with the author at Midnight. If you don't feel much for the mountains and rivers, there will be no clothes for the people. Title Fuguang Qiujiashan Temple Author: How can Fang Hui's Great Cold be without a glass of wine? Author of "Village Living in Bitter Cold", Great Cold must send wine to compete for luxury. Donate a coupon when the money is broken, and spit and swallow it for a long time when the sun is cold. The inkstone ice is old in snuff. You don't know the efficacy of tea until you sleep less, and you use Xun Mei Mountain as your base, and then you say that you can enjoy yourself at leisure. You still hold my robe for a group of books, and your hands are warm, and the earthen pot is rarely about three liters: in December of the eighth year of Tang Bai Juyi, there was no diligent work. I'm surprised that the servants are working hard. People in Ma Si are saddled, and the poor wanderers are self-absorbed. You know what year it is today. I know it's a cold year, but I want to hate it a lot, so I can't sit still. Well, it's hard to walk on the light path for the old, relying on a few quiet dust and labor alone. In the coming year, 70 people will still be healthy, and there will be snow on the fifth day: the bells of the ancient temple in Wang Zhidao will leak to the residual. Laugh and ask if there is a man standing on the loose side, and if there is something in the cup, there will be no residue. Bamboo and cypress all froze to death. It's a shame to miss him. The north wind is as sharp as a sword? The author of "The Great Cold Goes out of the West Gate of Jiangling" is very bitter with his own eyes. Yongle selling wine author, little cattle and sheep scattered far village. One after another, solitary rabbits cast their heads into the depths. The stream is cut off and frozen. Brown fur covers the quilt. Before you get to the temple, ask yourself who it is: Fang Hui is infinitely wide, with ten rooms and eighty-nine poor rooms, and it is easy to rest on his knees. There has always been meat like a tomb! Go back to the village. Survive hunger and cold. The village is too thin to sell as water. Enclose ten authors of Wu Shan's evening rhymes with millet. Looking up at the sky is like looking at the armillary sphere, the thatched cottage is deeply covered with doors, the wild fields fly and the frost is dry, but the cold is warm, snowy and sunny. Only burning the thorns, the clouds press the snow in Nanshan. You Ciyun, the author, the frozen surface is slightly warm and still icy, and Li Liechu welcomes the slight cold: Wen Tongsu birds are surprised to fly off the geese. When the sun shines, the skip will grow. The back of the elbow is hard but old.