Peach, pear and white Tomb-Sweeping Day's poem: I long for peach, pear and white apricot trees to blossom on time. I must admit that my body is lonely. Because I have never longed for a season as much as I longed for the world.

This season can melt the loneliness that has been frozen for a winter, and this season can be willful.

Expose yourself like all kinds of flowers, and you can go to the windowsill this season.

Kissing all the roses with thorns in the sun, I squeezed out the fertility of the other three seasons for this season.

After a rain, peach trees, pear trees and apricot trees were born in the clear window, and the weeds in the distance and the evening breeze embraced tightly under the cover of stars.

Until dawn, the weeds gasped untidily, and the wind gave birth to a bunch of babies overnight.

Fields, fields, mountains and canyons. Everyone is watching the four seasons.

Time is so thin that it has no vitality. My loneliness is related to spring.