Poetry related to apples

Gao Xiao's poems are based on suspicion of sweet wine. -Bai Juyi, assistant minister of Han Chang.

The grass roots are fragrant in the twelfth lunar month, and the snow in the sky is like salt. -Ma Shili Ho.

After picking flowers into honey, who will work hard for whom and who will be sweet? -bee sounds

The nectar is sweet and sour, and the size of the golden pill is even. -Shen and Lao She dined in the pavilion, and Xie Ying played with things and became Bai Juyi.

Manna is not the right taste, and the sweet spring is clean but not fragrant. -identify the taste of Bai Juyi

Geometry of life Spring is summer, and no fragrant mash is as sweet as honey. -Man Xing's Nine Poems of Du Fu

Sugarcane in southern Fujian is as sweet as honey, mixed with litchi and Longzhou orange. -send it to qi.

It can be as sweet as honey, or it can sail around the king of Chu. -Ping Li Joe

Tuantuan is as sweet as honey, but as thick as fat. -Yin Xianggong's poem "Cen Can" tells that the Tang trees in Jingzhao House are exposed.

As soon as Mr. Baishi's eyebrows lit up, he had already divided Xiang Xue into red pulp. -SiKongShu, hengzhou people, sent QuShan people.

Modern poetry:

Apples in winter

The apple is ripe. It's fall here.

"Grab me.

Or I will be buried! "

The apple is ripe. It's fall here.

"Save it for the winter!"

Teenagers under the tree

Put your hands on your knees and lose your eyes.

This is the last apple.

Hit a teenager on the head

The apple is ripe. It's fall here.

"I should hibernate!"

first love

When I first saw the apple orchard,

You just curled a girl's hair.

There is a colorful comb like a flower in the front temple.

Set off your beauty.

You reach out your white hand affectionately,

Pick up the apple and give it to me.

Pale red autumn is full of fragrance!

Just like you and I.

I'm still dreaming because of my infatuation,

A sigh blows your hair.

At this time, I seem to have drunk a cup of acacia!

The cup is full of your love.

In the shade of the apple grove,

When did you have a winding path?

Who stepped on the base of the pagoda in your heart?

Your whisper is still ringing in my ears.