A poem suitable for reading for three minutes

1 .baishancha 8194; ? Xi Murong (Taiwan Province Province)? Camellia is in bloom again, so the tree is full of beautiful white flowers. ? Every time, I can't ignore a flowering tree. Just like white and moist flowers, from small green buds to more and more full, to slowly bloom; From semicircle, to near circle, to full circle. When the flowers bloom, you can understand everything it says if you are willing to carry it out seriously. Just because each flower can only bloom once, it is absolutely good to be extra careful. There are no wrong flowers on the tree. They greet the only spring with such care and seriousness. ? So when I walked past a flowering tree, I had to be surprised and hold my breath for the beauty of life. Second, Liu Zhanqiu is whistling in the spring? Along the flowery land, the whistle of spring; Pick a young leaf from the willow; ? Pick a small flower from the apricot tree. Dip in the river and shake in the wind; So the cheerful melody began to swim. ? Whistles spin on the blue branches, prompting small leaves to grow quickly. ? Kites are flying in the sky, and whistles follow the children's hands and kite strings to the clouds. ? Oh, is there a buzz of bees in it? Is there a lark chirping? Will there be Niu Jiao? ? Along the flowery land, the whistle of spring; ? Pick a young leaf from the willow; ? Pick a small flower from the apricot tree. Dip in the river and shake in the wind; So the cheerful melody began to swim. ? It quietly lifted the girl's headscarf and slipped over their rosy lips. ? It caught up with the carriage and circled around the whip of the red cherry. ? It kissed the tractor tire and climbed onto the driver's shoulder. ? Ah, spring whistling and running all over the mountain; Everyone's ears are filled with a sweet voice-good morning! Third, Jinhua [India] Tagore? If I were a "golden flower", just for fun, I would grow on the high branch of that tree, swaying in the wind with a smile and dancing on the new leaves. Mom, will you know me? ? If you yell, "Where are you, son?" I snickered there, but didn't say a word. ? I will quietly open my petals and watch you work. ? When you take a shower, put your wet hair on your shoulders, walk through the tree-lined "golden flower" and walk to the yard where you pray, you will smell the fragrance of this flower, but you don't know it comes from me. ? When you sit at the window and read Ramayana after lunch, the shadow of that tree falls on your hair and knees, and I will cast my little shadow on your page, where you are reading. ? But can you guess that this is a small shadow of your child? ? When you go to the cowshed with a lamp at dusk, I will suddenly fall to the ground again and become your child again. Please tell me a story. ? "Where have you been, you bad boy?" ? "I won't tell you, mom." That's what you and I were trying to say. 4. Youth Xi Murong all the endings have been written, all the tears have started, but suddenly I forget how it started. In that ancient summer that is gone forever, no matter how I pursue it, young you just pass by like a cloud, your smiling face is extremely shallow and gradually disappears into the haze after sunset, so I opened the yellow title page, and fate bound it badly with tears in my eyes. I read and reread. 5. Dreamer Dai Wangshu dreamed of flowers and beautiful flowers, seeking priceless treasures. In the blue sea, at the bottom of the blue sea, there is a hidden golden shell. You climbed an iceberg for nine years, sailed in a dry sea for nine years, and then you met a golden shell. It has the sound of clouds and rain in the sky, it has the sound of wind and waves on the sea, and it will fascinate your heart. Keep it in seawater for nine years, in Tianshui for nine years, and then bloom in the dark. When your temples are covered with spots, when your eyes are hazy, golden shells spit out peach beads. Put the peach beads in your arms and put them on the pillow, and a dream comes quietly. Your dream blooms, your dream blooms, when you are old. Original Publisher: Three Minutes of Prose Suitable for Recitation in Du Mi Library One: Three Minutes of Prose Suitable for Recitation One: The flowers and plants of youth in Shen Qing make me tired but I don't regret it. The rain and snow in the four seasons make me ecstatic but unbearable. Light wind and green dreams, light morning sleep, light clouds and light tears, light years. With the joy of wandering, I will never come back. No one hinted at the dry taste of homesickness when I was young. I want to snuggle up to every golden sunset, and every drop of transparent dew washes away my sadness. I met her in full bloom in the distant spring, like a beautiful fairy tale filled with dazzling brilliance. Allow me, song for you. I can't sleep every night. Allow me to cry for you. I can fly freely in tears. The sky in my dream is very big, and I am lying on your eyelashes. There were many days in my dream, but I began to want to go home. On that blue hillside, I will bury all my songs and wait for them to be on earth one day. The bloom of youth makes me tired but I don't regret it. The rain and snow in the four seasons make me ecstatic but haggard. Tangled clouds, tangled tears, tangled mornings, wandering winds, wandering dreams, wandering years. 3 minutes to recite the second essay: coal in the furnace Guo Moruo, my girl! I live up to your kindness and you live up to my thoughtfulness. I burned like this for the person I love! Ah, my lady! You should know my predecessor. Don't you think I am a reckless slave? Need me, a black slave, with a heart like fire. Ah, my lady! I think my predecessor used to be a useful pillar. Buried alive for many years, until now I have to see the light again. Ah, my lady! I have often missed my hometown since I saw the light of day again. I burned like this for the person I love! Xu Zhimo bid farewell to Cambridge gently, and I left gently, just as I came gently, and I waved goodbye to Xixi 1 "Footprints in the Sea" Author: Zhang Qi, I like to walk barefoot on the tidal printed beach and listen to the sound of microwaves. That rhyming song is very charming. I grew up listening to this blue song. I walked and listened. Sometimes when you get drunk, you stop. My feet left traces on the wet tide prints, and the tide rushed up to smooth them one by one. I kept walking, leaving footprints. My footprints are love letters to the sea, and between the lines are filled with my attachment to the sea. The sea accepted my love. Therefore, those footprints were not erased by the tide, but were collected in its heart. 2, Rain Lane Author: Dai Wangshu holding an oil-paper umbrella, wandering alone in a long, lonely rain lane, hoping to meet a girl as sad as lilac. She has the same color, fragrance and sadness as lilac, complaining, complaining and hesitating in the rain; She wanders in this lonely rain lane, holding an oil-paper umbrella, and like me, silently feels indifference, sadness and melancholy. She approached silently, approached, and breathed a sigh of relief. She is floating like a dream, sad and confused like a dream. Like a lilac field in a dream, this girl floats by me; She walked away silently, far, far away, to the broken fence and walked all the way through the rain lane. In the elegy of rain, her color disappeared, her fragrance dispersed, and even her sighing eyes were lilac-like. Holding an oil-paper umbrella, I wandered alone in a long, lonely rain lane, hoping to float across a lilac-like knot with sadness. Author: The bluebird flies across the sky, and I am grateful to accompany you through this journey. Yesterday, it was still like a dream embracing the sky. I endured the scorching sun. I imagine a cup of coffee sprinkled on snowflakes, and my mood is like the rise and fall of an airplane. Some feelings of weightlessness are more real than performing in a drunken room. Perhaps from now on, my attention will be like a passenger plane in a dense fog, but you are in the course: reading aloud is an indispensable skill in modern cultural life, and it is also an ancient and young language art. It is said that it is ancient because there are written records, and it is said that it is young because we still need it to convey information today, and it is said that it is an art, because good reading is the real communication between spiritual records, the infinite communication between emotions and feelings, and the collision between history and reality. "Handwriting of Fallen Leaves" That afternoon, under the bright sunset sky, the temptation of autumn wind filled the air, red maple leaves danced in succession, and the strokes went away with surging thoughts, for fear that wonderful words would sneak into unknown corners. When I looked up at the maple tree again and was covered with red maple leaves, I blushed and looked forward to it. Some people moved and struggled. The pen fell straight on the table and made a collision sound. I don't want to see the words of spring fall on the pages of this late autumn. In the morning of "Missing", it was sunny again, and there were cheerful calls of birds and strings of wind outside the window. The curtains are shaking slightly. Are you the butterfly? Are you dancing that beautiful skirt? Are you composing music for that beautiful picture? I walked quietly to the window. I don't know how many times I reached out to open the curtains, but I took my hand back. Butterfly, how I want to ask you why you always let me close my eyes before flying back to me. The song of weightlessness took me into the boundless wilderness and let me cross the storm. Rain courageously galloped this song and poured me into the endless sea. I swam with this song, gently pushed open the window and came to the place I had forgotten. In this song, I suddenly found a place I have never forgotten (Author: Yuan Ge, search for "Yuan Ge's poem" or "Yuan Ge's poem" or the title of the poem, and you can enjoy the wonderful recitation of the teachers). The poem is as follows: Southern Night by: The quiet night in the south is brought by them, and the reeds at night are evaporating with strong enthusiasm ── I have already felt the intoxication of the south night, please smell the strong smell among the reeds. You said that the big bear star is always like a white bear in the cold zone, and it chills all over. At this time, swallows skimmed over the water and stars scattered on the lake-please take a look at the stars in this lake, and the starry sky in the south is such a scene. You said you suspected the ginkgo pine over there, as if the snow on the tree had not melted. At this time, the swallow flew to a palm tree and sang a warm song-please listen to the swallow's song. This is the scene in the southern forest. I always feel that we are not like tropical people, and our chests are always as quiet as autumn and winter. The swallow said that there is a rare flower in the south, which only blooms once in twenty years. At this moment, I suddenly feel that there is a flower hidden in my chest, which will bloom like a fire in this quiet night! Poetry expansion II: Poetry I, Prophecy Author: He Qifang This exciting day has finally arrived. I can clearly hear your sighing footsteps at night. It's not the whisper of leaves and night wind in the forest, but the tiny hoof sound of elk crossing the moss path. Tell me, tell me with your bell, were you predicted by the young God? You must come from the warm south, tell me the moonlight and sunshine there, tell me how the spring breeze blows open the flowers and how the swallows are madly in love with Populus davidiana. I will fall asleep in your dreamlike singing, which I seem to remember and forget. Please stop, stop your long-distance running, come in, there is a tiger skin mattress for you to sit on, let me burn the fallen leaves I pick up every autumn and listen to me sing my own songs in a low voice. That song will be as gloomy and lofty as fire, and fire will tell the life of fallen leaves. There is no need to go forward. There is an endless forest in front. The ancient trees are dotted with wild animals. The half-dead vines and pythons are intertwined, and no star leaks out of the dense leaves. Hearing the empty echo of the first step, you will be too timid to let go of the second step. Do you have to go? When I walk with you, my feet know every safe way. I can continue to sing the songs I forgot, and then give them the warmth of your hand. The darkness of the night interrupted us, so you could look into my eyes in the blink of an eye. You didn't listen to my exciting song, and your feet didn't stop for my trembling. Like a quiet breeze, they drift across the dusk and disappear, and so do your proud footsteps. Young God, did you end up as dumb as predicted? Poetry 2: "You are an April day on earth" Author: Lin I said you are an April day on earth; Laughter lit up the wind in all directions; Your soul dances in the glory of spring. You are a cloud in the early morning of April. The evening wind is soft, the stars shine unintentionally, and the drizzle floats lightly before the flowers. Then you are graceful, wearing a crown of flowers, you are innocent and solemn, you are a full moon every night. After the snow melts, the goose yellow looks like you; Tender as the green of a new bud, you are gentle and happy, and the white lotus you dream of is floating in the water. You are the flower of the tree, the swallow whispering between the beams, you are love, warmth and hope, you are the April day on the earth!