It s not worth visiting the garden A short story, the poem It s Not Worth Visiting the Garden is c

When he woke up in the morning, Ye Shaoweng, the great poet of the Southern Song Dynasty, thought helplessly: What are you going to do today? Suddenly, he remembered that he was going to visit a friend's private garden today! So he was happy in his heart, changed his clothes, and left happily

Halfway through, he was not only a little disappointed, because it was not worth the trip, and he didn't even meet anyone to visit, and he was very unhappy

Yes! When he finally arrived, he was happy again, and he was about to go to the garden! Walking to the door of the garden, he knocked lightly on the door a few times, but no one had come to open the door, and he suppressed a little anger in his heart:

Could it be that someone is coming to open the door? But he waited for a long time and still no one opened the door, and his disappointment and disappointment all came up, and he comforted himself as much as he could: the reason why the master did not come to open the door may be because the master was afraid that the grain under my wooden low shoes would trample on his green platform!

At this time, he looked up carelessly, ah! A branch of red apricot crept out, and he immediately became happy again!

Listen, it's the footsteps of the Spring Girl, getting louder and louder, getting closer and closer, almost there.

In the spring, everything recovers, the willow branches are dyed with tender green, swaying in the spring breeze, stretching their waists, like a married bride, with strings of pearls hanging on their heads, fluttering in the wind, and the forsythia flowers raise a golden trumpet with the sound of the river to play a beautiful and beautiful spring song. The grass burrowed out its unremarkable head and dyed the earth green. The peach tree stretched out countless branches, the pink peach blossoms were next to each other, crowded the whole branch, for fear that I could not see its gorgeous abundance, the peach tree was surrounded by flowers and plants, many of them were innumerable, there were yellow, red, white, purple ......It seems that an old grandfather is giving a problem to a child, and lo and behold, this helplessly lowered his head, as if he racked his brains and didn't come up with it.

This one didn't move, supporting his head with his hands, as if he was concentrating on thinking, and that mouth didn't know what he was nagging? Suddenly, a smile appeared at the corner of his mouth, and he probably knew the answer to his question.

The author thought that the outside was so beautiful, and that the friend's garden must be a charming scene, so he wore clogs, put on a coat, and followed the winding path to the door of the friend's garden. I had to look at the garden and sigh, the author looked up, and saw a branch of red apricot sticking out of the window in the right corner, the pink petals lined with the golden stamens like a child's smiling face, whispering to you, although the door closed the banquet flowers, but the spring of the thousands of purples and thousands of reds could not be closed, otherwise how could the red apricot stick out of the wall?

Therefore, Ye Shaoweng wrote this poem that has been passed down through the ages, "It's not worth visiting the garden".

It is February in the south of the Yangtze River, the clouds are light and the wind is light, and the sun is shining. The poet went to the door of a small garden to see the flowers and trees. He knocked lightly on the wood door a few times, but there was no response; After a few more knocks, no one answered.

Knock on like this, knock on it, and no one will come to open the door for a long time. What's going on? Is the host really not there?

Probably because he was afraid that the moss on the surface of the garden would be trampled by people, so he closed the door. If that's the case, then it's too stingy!

The poet pondered and wandered outside the garden, much in disappointment. When he was helpless and about to leave, when he looked up, he suddenly saw a blooming red apricot blossom on the wall poking its head out to greet people. The poet thought happily:

Well, good, this, this, that is a beautiful goods **.