Ancient poems related to phenology

The fire in the seventh month really shines;

Grant agriculture in September.

November wind sighs;

A cold snap hit in December.

We have no clothes to wear;

We will endure a cold winter.

The first lunar farm tool we made;

We harrow the second moon field.

I asked my wife and children.

Go to Nantian to deliver food.

The Guardian said, "Very good".

The fire in the seventh month really shines;

Grant agriculture in September.

Sunny spring is coming;

The oriole sings.

The girls are carrying baskets;

Follow in his footsteps,

Love seeks Sang Rou.

Spring came late,

Adopt Qi Qi.

The girls feel sad, alas;

Almost returned with childe!

The fire in the seventh month really shines;

We cut the reeds in August pond.

On March 3, mulberries cheered on the top;

We started cutting and cutting.

We cut off long branches.

Pick leaves between them.

Songbirds in July,

We shuttled back and forth in the eighth month.

Yellow dye or red dye?

Crimson dyed the air red.

Lord's clothes are ready.

In the fourth month, the grass began to sow;

Fifth, locusts sing and reproduce.

In the eighth month, we harvested everything;

The leaves began to fall in the tenth month.

Eleventh, far and wide,

We hunt fur and hides.

The lords got supplies.

Twelfth, we collect from various places.

Practice martial arts.

Speak and obey in private,

Dedicate to the public.

Locusts sing in May;

At the dawn of the sixth month, the wings of the owl.

Seventh, the crickets under the leaves,

Under my roof,

The ninth moon, entering my door,

Tenth, under my bed, I can't see any more.

Smoked rats in the dome,

The window closes and the gap is filled.

Oh, dear wife and children,

It's the end of the year,

Let's endure the cold in winter.

fuck/damn it

June, food depression, Austria,

Enjoy sunflower and glutinous rice in July.

In the eighth month, we choose a beautiful date;

We harvest rice in October.

Brew spring wine with these,

For a long and beautiful life.

We gut the July melon,

Broken pot in August,

Uncle Zhu in September.

Picking tea for reward,

We poor farmers can feed.

Build a nursery in September,

Tenth, store grain.

Hemp, wheat, beans, corn, all grains,

Cold, heat, drought, flood and rain,

Alas, who knows our pain?

The harvest is hardly completed;

Enter the palace to perform palace affairs.

During the day, people look for Congo grass;

At night, the rope is long and short.

The roof we built in a hurry;

Sowing will begin in the wild.

On the twelfth moon, we cut ice and store it;

In the first month, we sent the ice to the storage place.

We get up early on the second moon.

Mutton and leek offerings.

The ninth moon is high in the sky;

The leaves in the tenth month fall and dry.

We drank one cup after another.

And the lamb we killed.

We entered the hall.

We rarely raise the horn cup:

May God live forever!