A couplet praising bamboo.

The thin bamboo leans against the window to listen to the rain, and the slender orchid meets us at the door.

Bamboo has no heart, but every festival can be empty. Snow is not unintentional, and years are white.

Door to door, home to thousands of books.

The door is as short as 1,000 bamboo poles, but parents keep thousands of books.

The door is short of bamboo, but the home has thousands of books.

Don't be afraid that the heavy snow will bend your head. When the red sun returns, you will rush to smile. Mo Dao's burial festival is short, and after the green tip is exposed, it pierces the sky.

Short cotton, spinning long thread, weaving large cloth, wrapping small feet, traveling north and south;

Bend bamboo, draw ends, circles, hoop flat barrels, and install east and west.

Insist on reading a few useful books and forget to eat and sleep; Cultivate several new bamboos as straight as children and grandchildren. Zhenbanqiao

It is good to have bamboo people; There is no room for self-fragrance.

Bamboo rain pine organ rhyme; Tea, cigarettes, moonlight, books.

There is a knot in the grave; Lingyun is still modest.

Stone is a true friend; Bamboo is my humble teacher.

You are in love with spring.