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花清波
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花清波
三月春风问小河，
谁将花瓣撒清波。
夕阳扭脸抿嘴笑，
扎头藏进西山窝。
Flower Ripples
Spring breeze of March asks the old river,
Who scatters petals on the clear wave.
The setting sun turns its face, smiling shy,
Then dives headlong into West Hill’s cave.
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