Poems celebrating the harvest, ancient poems

I planted beans at the foot of Nanshan, and the weeds in the field were covered with peas. Get up early in the morning to get rid of weeds, and come back with hoes in the moonlight at night.

The narrow path covered with vegetation, the night dew wet my clothes. It's not a pity to get wet, but I hope it won't be against my will.

The moon on the horizon rose to the top of the tree, scaring away the magpies perched on the branches. The cool evening breeze seems to have spread to cicadas in the distance.

In the fragrance of rice and flowers, people talk about the harvest of a year, and frogs croak in their ears, as if in a bumper harvest year. In the old days, Maodian was near the forest, and the road turned to Xitou.