Footsteps, trembling strings, cold mood,
Start heating, writing, and step into a quiet harbor.
The troubles left over from yesterday,
Between your fingers, frost marks,
Once a young face was covered with wrinkles,
Once a close partner, relatively silent,
The only constant, the days in my hometown,
A crescent moon is carved on the lake.
Dream back to my hometown prose poem 2 The rain is swaying and splashing, cleaning the face of the small village.
Friend, my hometown is located in criss-crossing buildings.
Beautiful scenery, without any exaggerated ink and wash,
The smiling faces of the villagers are full of happiness and auspiciousness.
Sweat is flowing, rice is fragrant, who can imagine,
The shabby scenes of childhood, dirty faces,
It's rare to have a dry meal a year when you break through the window.
It was the party's policy that saved the mountain village.
It was the persistence of the villagers that polished the sky in my hometown.
As time goes by, the village has put on new clothes.
Every bag is full of happiness,
Those past events have long been buried in the depths of memory.
Dream Back to Hometown Prose Poetry 3 In that year, Na Yue left his hometown.
Tears, a piece of Wang Yang,
My parents burst into tears,
Stepping into the sacred literary hall with ardent expectations,
Missing, countless times of madness, dad's entrustment, are shining stars,
Mother's eyes are the moon in her heart.
Pave a road to the future with your own efforts and sweat.
I know that only by paying, this road will be straight and wide.
Yesterday, I walked home with my grades.
Whistling to visit white-haired parents.
Dream back to my hometown prose poem 4 took my mother's hand and tears wet my face.
The house is brand new, but my mother's face is full of vicissitudes.
Willow covers the window, look carefully, dad is no longer stalwart,
Mom, still dignified, little nephew clapped his hands and sang, that song,
Revived childhood dreams, steaming oil cakes,
My favorite cabbage soup, my mother nags, come back quickly,
I opened my bag and dressed my mother in the new clothes I had bought for a long time.
Satisfied smile, climbed up the mother's face.
Dreaming back to my hometown prose poem 5 suddenly remembered the belongings at home when I was a child, and my mother led me into the warehouse.
A pair of antique brown cabinets and a radio have long lost their sound.
Carelessly stroking mother's face and cheeks, and then filling a glass of wine for father.
On TV, Song toasted three tile houses and recalled the past.
Although a little sad, it is also sad.