Are you the white clouds that floated that day? Are you the roaring autumn wind? Traveling all over the world, the most unforgettable thing is the muddy mountain road in my hometown.
Ah, hometown. I saw the muddy past under the cypress forest again. I relive you. It is not the willow flute blowing on the back of the shepherd boy cow in the drizzle, nor the elegant artistic conception of fishing boats singing late.
I was born in that tragic era. I am destined to be with grass all my life, and a crack in the rock is an opportunity of life. On that stormy night, my father left with the heavy desolation of the mountain village and the deep sigh of the old buffalo. Mother was fixed on the screen of history by the storm of the times and swayed into an old neem tree at the entrance of the village. I am a fragile little cypress beside the tree.
The lonely hut accompanied my mother and my hard life. A kerosene lamp and a half bowl of corn porridge are very satisfying. My mother used hope instead of hunger to fill my growth and grow into a pair of strong feet, which are firm and powerful despite the storm. You know, my stubbornness today is refined from previous lives. I am no longer that fragile little cypress tree.
I am a lonely goose soaring in the sky, and I am proud of the turbulent storm on the boundless sea. Between reality and meditation, I decorate my fragile wings with persistence. I worked hard. For my father's dying wish, I trudged at the peak of my destiny. Now that you are old, the cypress trees around you have grown up and left you, with your lost youth and the affection of half a bowl of corn porridge saved by lovelorn.
oh Am I your key? I left you. I am afraid that my stormy waves will crush your heavy back. I'm afraid the poor spine will give you too much and too heavy a load. I went to the other side of the mountain and planted acacia trees there with my thoughts of you. I want to cry quietly, a song > It stung my bitter throat and decorated every foreign dream of mine.
Nostalgia (Xi Murong)
The song of my hometown is a flute in Qingyuan.
It always rings on a moonlit night.
The face of my hometown is a vague disappointment.
Like waves in the fog.
After leaving,
My hometown is a tree without rings.
Never grow old.
Prose Poetry-Hometown Qingge
Hometown,
Far away,
Long time no see, hadron,
Is it still blooming?
Brother Qing,
Lonely Hu Jia,
Singing leisurely on the grassland,
I heard this song.
Moonlight,
Scattered on the balcony,
Missing fills my heart,
Frozen my sadness.
homesickness
Yu Guangzhong
In childhood
Homesickness is a small stamp.
I'm at this end
Mom is over there.
When I grow up
Homesickness is a narrow ticket.
I'm at this end
The bride is over there.
We'll talk about it later.
Homesickness is a low grave.
I am outside
Mom's inside.
But now
Homesickness is a shallow strait.
I'm at this end
The mainland is over there
2. Poetry and prose about praising my hometown bid farewell to the hometown where I was born and raised, and I didn't look back. I couldn't help crying because I was afraid to turn around. Walking forward with tears, heavy footsteps are deeply imprinted on the land of my hometown.
Far away, the shadow of my hometown is clearly visible. Parents' voices are hovering in their ears, and they are worried and have a thousand words; Tell your heart in your dream. Acacia for a long time without sleep, lost the direction of home in the dark; Only with tears in my eyes can I be introduced to my hometown. ...
The sun and the moon have flown, and it has been four years since I left home. Elderly parents and children are always worried about your parents. I can't forget the warmth of home, and your familiar nagging has become eternal in my heart. Life becomes eternal in constant pursuit, and life becomes brilliant in constant struggle. I left with a hard heart. I can't find giving up in my dictionary, only pursuing. I have never been afraid, lonely or given up. Only homesickness
Mountains and rivers are connected, and flesh and blood are close to each other. Home is the ultimate destination. Hot sunshine can't replace the warmth of parents' arms; The spirits in the cup are not as sweet as the mountain springs in my hometown. My hometown is beautiful, and the smile on my face is not hypocritical; Although she is not wearing silk, she is very simple. Colorful cities will always belong to others, and I am just a passer-by. The grass endures the ravages, but it doesn't feel fresh when breathing. Noisy city, crowded people, ridicule; Only home is quiet.
The longest line in the world is not a net line, but a thin acacia line, which will always connect your heart with mine. Parents at home are waiting stupidly; I hope to have a family member soon.
The moon is round when it is absent;
When will the lonely guest in a foreign land return?
The spring breeze awakens the willows in front of the window.
Born in another country for another year.
3. Poetry or prose describing hometown [prose poetry] Are you a white cloud that floated that day? Is that the roaring autumn wind? Traveling all over the world, the most unforgettable thing is the muddy mountain road in my hometown. Ah, my hometown. I saw the muddy past under the cypress forest again. I relive you. It is not the willow flute blowing on the back of the shepherd boy cow in the drizzle, nor the elegant artistic conception of fishing boats singing late. I was born in that tragic era. I am destined to be with the grass all my life, and a crack in the rock is an opportunity. On that stormy night, my father left with a sigh.
My mother was fixed on the screen mirror of history by the storm of the times and swayed into an old neem tree at the entrance of the village. I am a fragile little cypress beside the tree. The lonely hut accompanied my mother and me through the difficult days. A kerosene lamp and a half bowl of corn porridge are very satisfying. My mother used hope instead of hunger to fill my growth and grow into a pair of strong feet, which are still firm and powerful despite the storms. You know, my stubbornness today is refined from previous lives. I am no longer that fragile little cypress tree. I am a lonely goose soaring in the sky, and I am proud of the storm raging on the boundless sea. Between reality and meditation, I decorate my fragile wings with persistence. I struggled for my father's dying wish and trudged at the peak of my destiny. Now, you are old, and the small cypress trees around you have grown up and left you.
oh Am I your key? Leave you alone. I'm afraid my stormy sails will crush your heavy back. I'm afraid the poor spine will give you too much and too heavy a load. I went to the other side of the mountain, bearing the thoughts of you, and planted acacia trees there. I want to cry silently. A song >; Bite my bitter throat and decorate every foreign dream. The song of homesickness (Xi Murong) is a Qingyuan flute, which always rings on the moonlit night.
The face of my hometown is a vague disappointment, like a wave of farewell in the fog. After parting, my hometown is a tree without rings and will never grow old.
Prose Poetry-Hometown Qingge Hometown, a faraway place, long time no see, still blooming? Qingge, lonely Hu Jia, sang leisurely on the grassland, and the song came to my ears.
Moonlight, scattered on the balcony, filled my heart with thoughts and frozen my sadness. Homesickness-Yu Guangzhong's homesickness as a child is a small stamp. My mother grew up there, and homesickness is a narrow ticket. I'm here and the bride is there. Homesickness is a short grave. I'm outside and my mother is inside. Homesickness is now a shallow strait. I am on this continent and there.
4. Prose Poems in Praise of Hometown ★ Poems in Praise of Motherland 2 ★: "Motherland, My Dear Motherland" I/am your brand-new ideal, just out of the spider web of myth; I/am the germ of your snow quilt/ancient lotus; I/am the whirlpool of your tears/laughter; I am a new/snow-white starting line; Yes/crimson dawn is blowing; -the motherland! I/am one billionth of you, the sum of your 9.6 million square meters; You/feed me lost, thoughtful and boiling with scarred breasts; Then/get your richness, your glory and your freedom from my flesh and blood; -Motherland, dear/Motherland! ★ Psalm 3 ★: My motherland, the Yangtze River and the Yellow River cross the mountains and rivers of China, showing a splendid journey everywhere, such as golden lamps illuminating the sails of a long voyage. My motherland, with your wise soul, led all the people in the world to open up a broad road, making the motherland as beautiful as a flower and depicting the glory of the East. My motherland has read the burning soul from your spirit and the hardships of opening up a brilliant tomorrow. My motherland has your charming beauty from the frontier to the coast, and I will be full of affection with simple emotions. I wish the motherland more prosperity. My motherland, the Yellow River, the Yangtze River and the Great Wall, has created eternal rivers and mountains of reform and opening up. Develop a vision to illuminate the world. I am proud of the glory of my motherland. The sun like the dawn of the motherland, with firm faith, turns surging fighting spirit into eternal persistence to create a better tomorrow. The cradle of oriental civilization of the great motherland is like a Mercedes-Benz train, facing the dawn of the century with burning faith and heading for a more brilliant future. At the beginning of the century, I think of my motherland with passion-here I am song for you, the motherland-you are the confluence of the source of civilization accumulated in a thousand years of history, you are the waterfall of the snow-covered Yellow River Hukou in Tianshan Mountain, you are dignified, deep, broad and broad, the rivers are your breath, the boiling ocean is your blood, you are the theme of my life world and all the motherland, and the motherland-you are the cry of Tiananmen Gate, yes. It is a sail that sails through the wind and waves. You are strong, confident and forge ahead. The avant-garde grand blueprint of socialism is active in your wisdom, and the rising sun in the East is bursting with your vitality. You are the creator of the world and the socialist practitioner of the motherland. Motherland-you are the spring breeze along the South China Sea coast and a touch of sunrise in Luohu Village. You are a railroad track on the Qinghai-Tibet Plateau and a derrick in Tarim Oilfield. Your foresight, skill and courage, and the great changes in the small fishing village have proved your courage. The smiling faces of the people write about your great motherland-your motherland that created life and transformed the world. Motherland-you are the banner of world peace and the messenger of human civilization and progress. You are a soldier who defends the truth and raises children. You are honest, caring, strong and kind. People all over the world admire your mind. The sons and daughters of China are grateful to your mother-like motherland-you have soothed the pain of human beings in the war and brought the dawn of peace. Motherland, Motherland-you have gone through a thousand years of history and crossed the world civilization. Throughout the ages, you know very well that your kindness and love for Ingner are unwavering. Defending green and peace, we are proud to be your children. We are proud to have such a motherland-we are United with you and we support you in your progress. Your children firmly believe that the future of the motherland will be better, the future of the world will be better, and the future of mankind will be better. This poetic name pervades your every season. It's the white dove who wakes up in the blue sky on the first morning in October! Motherland, I have loved you for too long ... October! My motherland, please give me a torch. I will follow your footsteps, let every dream flow with sweetness, and let all voices be covered with golden notes. Please spread the colorful clouds for me. I will inject eternal vitality into your gorgeous life. The first October is always like tears, full of echoes and China's voice extending through your heart to the most enthusiastic surge. Motherland ... for whom is the crown of October worn? On the first morning in October, in front of Tiananmen Square, I felt the aftertaste of osmanthus and the drums of harvest. I recall the historical sounds carved on white marble, and my thoughts have changed. How can the mountains and rivers in Wan Li not cultivate my beautiful character and integrity? ! Qian Fan and I celebrated the rising October by singing. My motherland has become a flock of high-flying white doves, flapping their wings ... China is one of the four ancient civilizations in the world, with a vast territory, magnificent mountains and rivers, rich products and a long history and culture.
Five thousand years of humanistic creation and the natural landscape created by everything in the sky have left us with impressive scenes and a large number of places of interest, creating the splendid culture and art of the motherland in October! This poetic name pervades your every season. It's the white dove who wakes up in the blue sky on the first morning in October! Motherland, I have loved you for too long ... October! My motherland, please give me a torch. I will follow your footsteps, let every dream flow with sweetness, and let all voices be covered with golden notes. Please spread the colorful clouds for me. I will inject eternal vitality into your gorgeous life. The first October is always like tears, full of echoes and China's voice extending through your heart to the most enthusiastic surge. Motherland ... for whom is the crown of October worn? On the first morning in October, in front of Tiananmen Square, I felt the aftertaste of osmanthus and the drums of harvest. I recall the historical sounds carved on white marble, and my thoughts have changed. How can the mountains and rivers in Wan Li not cultivate my beautiful character and integrity? ! The rising October is Qian Fan's competition and my singing. My motherland has become a flock of high-flying white doves, flapping their wings and wanting to fly ... "Motherland, my dear motherland" I am an old waterwheel on your river, spinning tired songs for hundreds of years. I am the miner's lamp that illuminates you on your forehead.
Poetry and prose about praising my hometown bid farewell to the hometown where I was born and raised, and I didn't look back.
I couldn't help crying because I was afraid to turn around. Walking forward with tears, heavy footsteps are deeply imprinted on the land of my hometown.
Far away, the shadow of my hometown is clearly visible. Parents' voices are hovering in their ears, and they are worried and have a thousand words; Tell your heart in your dream.
Acacia for a long time without sleep, lost the direction of home in the dark; Only with tears in my eyes can I be introduced to my hometown ... The sun and the moon fly, and I have been away from home for four years. Elderly parents and children are always worried about your parents.
I can't forget the warmth of home, and your familiar nagging has become eternal in my heart. Life becomes eternal in constant pursuit, and life becomes brilliant in constant struggle.
I left with a hard heart. I can't find giving up in my dictionary, only pursuing. I have never been afraid, lonely or given up. Only homesickness
Mountains and rivers are connected, and flesh and blood are close to each other. Home is the ultimate destination. Hot sunshine can't replace the warmth of parents' arms; The spirits in the cup are not as sweet as the mountain springs in my hometown.
My hometown is beautiful, and the smile on my face is not hypocritical; Although she is not wearing silk, she is very simple. Colorful cities will always belong to others, and I am just a passer-by.
The grass endures the ravages, but it doesn't feel fresh when breathing. Noisy city, crowded people, ridicule; Only home is quiet.
The longest line in the world is not a net line, but a thin acacia line, which will always connect your heart with mine. Parents at home are waiting stupidly; I hope to have a family member soon.
The moon is round when it is absent; When will the lonely guest in a foreign land return? The spring breeze awakened the willow tree in front of the window and was born in another country for another year.
6. Modern prose poems about hometown are relatively short. 1. There is a street, an old street, a pot of wine, a pot of old wine, a photo and an old photo in my hometown. There used to be many people in the street, but many of them were familiar with each other. Look at their faces, they are all printed with sunshine, smiles, hope for tomorrow and happy family reunion. It seems to be repeated every day, but there are new feelings every day. The autumn wind blows leaves all over the ground. Don't make it too hasty. I just want it to represent light yellow, simple and fragrant. Because this is my home, my hometown. I miss my hometown on such a beautiful night. Looking up at the starry sky, the breeze is slow and the night is colorful. The desire to go home last night took my thoughts to a distant place. No matter how far I go to the ends of the earth, seeing my hometown clearly always brings tears to my eyes. My hometown's yearning for you has been integrated into my blood and bones, and your roots have been deeply rooted in my soul. I always fall in love with the sweet songs in my hometown, the bright moonlight in my hometown, the streets of the familiar sunset city, and people come and go, but I don't see my familiar faces. Full of heavy luggage from my hometown, it gently lifted the pain of my missing.
7. Praise hometown poems out of context. Zhi Lin, you stand on the bridge and watch the scenery. The scenery watcher is watching you upstairs. The bright moon decorated your window. You decorated other people's dreams. Yu Huili: Homesickness is a small stamp when I was a child. My mother grew up there, and homesickness is a narrow ticket. When I was here, so was the bride. Homesickness is a low grave. I'm outside and my mother is inside. Homesickness is now a shallow strait. I am here. The mainland is over there I am a blooming summer lotus. I hope you can see me now. The wind and frost have not eroded the autumn rain, and the lush season has left me. I am elegant, carefree and fearless. Now is my most beautiful moment, but I lock the door behind my fragrant smile. Who knows that my lotus heart is missing you? It's either too early or too late. I am a cloud in the sky, occasionally projected in your heart-you don't have to be surprised.
You and I met in the dark sea, you have yours, I have mine, direction; It would be better if you remember, but you'd better forget the light released at this meeting! Author: Kitajima meanness is the passport of the despicable, while nobility is the epitaph of the noble. You see, the gilded sky is full of crooked shadows of the dead. The ice age has passed, why is there ice everywhere? The Cape of Good Hope has been discovered. Why did Qian Fan compete in the Dead Sea? I came to this world with only paper, rope and pictures in order to understand the voice of being tried before the trial.
To tell you the truth, I don't believe in this world! Even if there are 1000 challengers under your feet, count me as the 10 1 th. I don't believe that the sky is blue, I don't believe in the echo of thunder, I don't believe that dreams are false, and I don't believe that death has no retribution.
If the ocean is destined to burst its banks, let all the bitter water pour into my heart. If the land is destined to rise, let mankind choose the peak of survival again. A new turning point and sparkling stars filled the open sky.
That's a hieroglyph of 5,000 years, and that's the eyes that people will stare at in the future. Lin's Death is Comfort. Death is the chain that comforts all and can never be opened. Life is a knot! Death is really a cloud.
A rope, always holding, life is a kite, rarely floating away, death is a river fog, flying away in confusion? Long journey, always in the middle, life is a series of steps, heavy as mud-death is everywhere, no longer difficult. Between a winding stream, running water day and night, life is a kind of running away, always leaving! There is only one death, and that is comfort.
Seen from a distance, this island is a picturesque mountain peak, standing proudly in the middle of the river. It is just an unfortunate island-there is no natural embankment, and there is no artificial Hongqiao. He asked his own shadow to be a prisoner of the surrounding water forever; Land is an unreachable hope for it! Lonely in the morning and evening, it often supports the boat! In the stormy season, let the river fog hide itself.
Standing on the small tower on a sunny day, it is exquisite and unique in cloud heart; Panshi steps, from Zhong Songlin, transcend silence. The outline of the special edition is painstaking. Where can I find some sympathy in the desert land? Untitled Dai Wangshu is a wall between me and the world, a lamp between the wall and me, a book between the lamp and me, and a gap between the book and me! Dai Wangshu walked alone in a long, lonely rain lane with an oil-paper umbrella. I hope to meet a girl as sad as lilac.
She is lilac-like color, lilac-like fragrance, lilac-like sadness, sadness in the rain, sadness and hesitation; She wanders in this lonely rain lane, holding an oil-paper umbrella, silently sad like me, and sad and disappointed like me. She silently approached, approached and took a breath. She floated like a dream, dreamlike, sad and confused.
Like a lilac field in a dream, this girl floats by me; She walked away silently, far away, towards the crumbling fence and through the rainy lane. In the elegy of rain, her color faded, her fragrance dispersed, and even her sighing eyes were lilac-like melancholy.
Holding an oil-paper umbrella, I wandered alone in a long, lonely rain lane, hoping to float past a girl with a lilac knot. Dead water stinks. This is a desperate backwater, and the breeze can't move at all.
Why not throw more rubbish and throw out the leftovers? Maybe copper should be green to emerald, and a few peach blossoms will rust on the tin can; Let greasy weave a layer of Luo qi, and the mold will steam out some clouds for him.
Let the stagnant water ferment into a ditch of green wine, full of pearl-like foam; The laughter of the little bead turned into a big bead, and it was bitten by the flower mosquito who stole the wine. Then a ditch of desperate stagnant water is somewhat vivid.
If the frog can't stand loneliness, it is stagnant water calling for a song. This is a backwater of despair, which is definitely not the beauty.
It is better to let ugliness cultivate and see what world he has created. Cang Kejia, the old horse, had to ask the carriage to be loaded with enough things. Anyway, he didn't say a word, and the pressure on his back was buckled into the meat. He bowed his head heavily! Don't know the fate of the next moment. It only swallows tears in its heart and has a whip shadow in its eyes. It looks up at the front, hoping to help you and adopt it.
8. Now, near my village and meeting people, I dare not ask a question.
I looked up and found that it was moonlight and sank again, and I suddenly remembered home.
Three clouds in my hometown
Clouds floating across my hometown on the horizon.
It has been calling me.
When the breeze around you blows gently
A voice is calling me.
Come back, come back
Wandering wanderer
Come back, come back
Don't wander around.
Take a heavy step
It's a long way home.
When the breeze around you blows gently
Blowing the fragrance of hometown soil.
Come back, come back
Wandering wanderer
Come back, come back
I'm tired of wandering
I'm exhausted.
There are sour tears in my eyes.
Hometown wind
Clouds in my hometown
Wipe my wound.
I used to be full of pride.
Return the empty bag.
Hometown wind
Clouds in my hometown
Heal my wound
Heal my wound
4 strong women in business do not know how to hate their country, but still sing backyard flowers across the river.