Home is an experience,
Home is the sunshine of love,
Home is a feeling,
There is warmth,
Experienced,
Sunshine full of love,
Feel at home,
Only home has all the warmth,
Only the family has all the experience,
Only home has all the love,
Only home has the feeling of everything.
Ah, ah, ah, ah
Home-home-home.
Modern poetry at home has been cold for two days.
Moonlight is gentle alone.
We are burdened with prosperity.
Walking in the wilderness
Where I have been.
Tonight, it is particularly eye-catching
Finger lock
I can't play, the mountains and rivers are faded, and I am sad.
Dude, I like this scene.
Who else can I think of besides my mother?
Autumn leaves fall and spread all the way.
Can I touch your heart?
Modern Poetry of Home 3 Tonight, I have no moonlight here.
Moon, it will surely come to you.
Sprinkle all over your voyage
I live by a famous river.
Listen to the surging sound every day.
For a long time, my thoughts continued.
Women are like water, and the autumn rain is continuous.
Beautiful dance, mixed with sadness and joy.
No matter how far away, there will always be spring.
I took out all kinds of beautiful moon cakes.
On the windowsill of the observation deck
Ate a-
Lianrongxin
Your name is written in a familiar place.
I often look up, and often
Bow your head and think, is there eternity between heaven and earth?
From then on, there is no need to look for or watch.
Close your eyes and use the blood of flowers.
Imitate the ark of love and present it to you.
Everything started in warmth. I am close to you, and you are close to me.
We won't really know each other. Out of true love
An emotion, in the fuzzy heart window.
Write down your name and enter a fantasy situation.
You are Romeo and I am Juliet.
We are performing a human comedy.
Brother Sky, you have to keep your head down, and I have to keep my head up.
Let our eyes meet in thin hope.
A transparent mind speaks to nothingness.
For all of us *
We are very familiar with the modern poetry of this family.
Screen, mouse, fast food noodles
There are many familiar things.
Focus on the moonlit night
I thought I could climb the sky with a ladder.
Touch your heart, ethereal voice
Fuzzy clouds, so warm
I think Chang 'e must be sleeping now.
Too familiar, really.
I seem to see myself.
Walk with my soul, not run away.
Mottled figure, rising slowly.
Flying snowflakes melt in my arms.
Modern Poetry of the Family 6 Soon, the moon is round and curved.
We parted ways.
Flying south, life is broken.
From then on, I attached a feather.
The moon is silent and tears keep flowing.
The window of acacia, the lantern is still there.
Some mysteries never end.
I watched, the water fell on the mountain and the stone came out.
It's a long way. Take care.
Sometimes, dreams come true.
Looking forward to seeing you again, thousands of miles away.
I am ecstatic that you are listening.
Family's Modern Poetry 7 on a sunny noon
I lay comfortably on the sofa.
While greedily enjoying the rich and beautiful feelings brought by readers.
Hearing voices in the kitchen-
The clear water rattled.
It seems to have flowed into my insides.
Feel cool and comfortable
The whole body is supple and natural.
Even my hair feels relaxed.
The pattering sound of water.
Wash vegetables
Loud, crisp and sweet
Knock on the chopping block
Like a woodpecker pecking at a tree bug.
Lightweight, gentle and practical.
The sound of cooking.
Like silk.
The clatter of a spatula.
Fill the whole room with a strong fragrance.
Let the whole house be full of happiness at home.
then
Familiar footsteps rustle.
Come to the sofa.
At present, there is a seemingly naughty and tolerant noodle restaurant
Pass on warmth and care.
It changed the flow pattern of blood in each of my veins.
Become gentle, smooth and touching.
Smooth and soft as silk.
There is a generous and mellow voice.
In a quiet space.
Ear echo-it's time to eat.
Kindness and peace
I really don't want to leave the sofa.
But I still look at the face that has been with me.
Smile sweetly
Accompany my face.
Also narrowed his eyes and smiled.
Modern Poetry of Home 8 ◎ Going home
Set foot on a long-lost field path
The leather shoes under your feet
Knock on the door with time
Green past
Reach out and touch lingering.
Wandering soul
Quietly snuggle up on the yellow land
Wandering footsteps
Eagerly waiting for Hua.
No reservation
No promise
In the cool wind
Chasing each other together
Romantic moment
Beautiful scenery and old wine
I am willing to get drunk with my hometown.
This day
I want to write a page of my life.
Country roads
Like a swimming snake
From a village
Extend to another village
connective
Land after land.
feel
The years passed.
This road is full of dark wounds.
It hurts me.
A pair of feet in childhood
Hinder my growth.
feel
Villagers harvesting wheat
Avoid the trap of the path
Afraid of carelessness
Let ants hide in the grass
Move away grain by grain.
Search
Nobody told me.
What is on the other side of the sea?
be accustomed to
Beyond the mountain is the mountain.
Further afield
This is my hometown.
I'm walking on the road
Behind others
A starry night sky
There will be flashing eyes.
There are two lines of tears
Winding through the heart
a key
You can open a door.
I believe in my hands.
It should also be a key.
Put your hands above your head.
Pay tribute to life and worship the years.
Modern Family Poetry 9 Hours Childhood
Home is my parents' call when I play.
The budding period of growth and youth
Home has become a place to escape.
Then I got hurt at work.
I remembered my parents' phone number.
The moment I pushed open my parents' door.
When the smell of being in charge came back, I was in tears.
When I write poems, essays and novels with exquisite handwriting
When I see one paid manuscript after another
Home is also an ink-scented book and newspaper.
When I left my mother and lived in other provinces.
As a stranger who is alone in a foreign land, I miss my relatives twice every festive season.
At this time, the family returned to the relationship they had established with their husband and son.
Blood ties unite the strength of that family.
Back home, the concept of home has changed again.
It's the sound I make when I'm knocking on the keyboard in the study.
It was the lamp that lit for me at midnight.
Life goes on, and the road ahead is still far away.
The concept of home will change.
Jiayajia
Home is sometimes your own, and sometimes it belongs to everyone.
Modern Poetry House 10 Father, visit your grave on the way home.
Pass by Jiazhuang, Shangzhuang and Nianquan, and pass by the car circle.
Along the way.
I saw his father's back was hard and his face was red.
You were born in1May 940.
If you live to be this spring,
If you index by hand, it's only 70.
If you are healthy.
You can still drink half a catty of white wine a day.
You can also eat two pancakes at a meal.
But you've been away from us for fourteen years.
It was the summer of July 1998.
It used to be a normal day.
As usual, you go to the bottom of the ditch in the east of the village to pick a well in the morning.
You can climb that steep slope, but you suddenly fainted.
The cool well water spilled out of the bucket.
Wow, it spread silently and dried up.
Your life came to an abrupt end.
You walk so fast and so quiet.
Didn't leave a word
I can't even drink porridge.
Father, I have been waiting for many years.
I always feel that I am not dead, but still alive.
Still teaching at school, or working in the fields.
Don't live with us
You must not have gone far either.
Alone, maybe in the corner.
A cold winter night, or a warm spring morning,
Maybe one day at that moment.
You will come back.
Father, after fourteen years, you must be in rags and skinny.
Father, how many times have I dreamt about you?
In my dream, my hair and beard turned white, but you were so young.
You didn't talk much when you were alive.
In my dream, I just choked.
We gestured to each other again and again.
Mutually exhort each other.
I know that even if I live in a remote place, separated by thick soil,
You can't give up the feelings in this world.
Just as the spring breeze rises again, the peach blossoms bloom again.
Like weeds in your grave, they will grow old and flourish.
Just like there is always rain in Mao Mao in Tomb-Sweeping Day.
I wrote these lines for you, and my tears slipped quietly.