The manuscript suitable for girls' reading has helped you collect some rhyming poems of campus youth on the Internet, which is more suitable for reading, rhyming and catchy. Give it a try!
The prosperity of love
You said you were a flower floating in the world.
My tired wanderer is crazy enough to take you away.
You stopped me with a lie that conveyed words and rhythms.
The green trees and red flowers outside the window have been blooming desperately all summer.
When will the flying wing come to gather in prosperity?
Lonely enough to remove all the red clothes.
Finish the last summer of twenty.
Stop at a myth, you always praise my genius.
Lies that have encouraged me to be my own audience for years.
Move to another city and ignore my concern for you.
When exploring the road, I will also say something to strangers.
But I can't get away with it because of you.
It turns out that love has to work hard to realize how great it is.
At that time, I had drifted to the end of the world.
Recalling the angry words at the beginning, I regret it.
After a rain, a rainbow appeared on the vast sea.
I swore that I would love her even if I was silent for a lifetime.
You are a flower that blooms in my soul world and never fades.
Youth likes it very much
At dusk, swallows fall, and Jiangnan cooks cigarettes until dusk.
The wind drags the sunset on others, in front of you.
Your sudden arrival in March made me sleepless.
The coupling of Yangchun with snow and aura comes from nature.
Temperament is a magnet, and you also attract the flowing drunken eyes.
What's new is the maverick scattered on you.
Water hibiscus is like an angel coming to earth.
Carve naturally, and no one will stop you from being free and easy.
I can't bear to be apart from you. Where will you clone your good karma in the future?
Love is not a whim, you blame me for perfunctory.
You say love does its best, and you do it.
Lost in trust, you belittle all my vows.
Honey, I'm sure I have nothing to do with you.
Please give me more time before I go to the end of the world.
A few red beans are as beautiful as you. Teach me how to reduce lovesickness.
You challenged me to say that I was really crazy.
Silly girl, you stole my old style.
I like this kind of youth very much
Urgent for a manuscript suitable for girls to recite! ~ ~ Farewell to Cambridge
Ask for several short recitations of Wang Meng's Long Live Youth (more expensive, suitable for boys to recite).
All the days, all the days have come,
Let me weave for you with the golden thread of youth,
The flower ring of happiness weaves you.
There is singing and laughing on the boat, dancing on the campus under the moon,
Walking in the drizzle, marching in the early morning of the first snow,
There are also fierce arguments, a beating and warm heart. ...
It is a day that has passed in a blink of an eye, and it is also a day full of reverie.
One wish after another is blurred, like spring rain,
We have time, strength and firm belief.
We are eager to live and fly in the sky.
It's a simple day, but also a changeable day.
Everything in the vast world surprises us.
Never cheerful, never indifferent,
Tears, laughter and deep thought are all the first time.
Go straight, go straight,
I move forward happily in life, move forward!
What a heavy burden I will not be weak;
No matter how fierce the battle is, I will not lose face;
One day,
Wipe the gun, wipe the machine and wipe the sweat.
I miss you and greet you.
Look at you proudly
20 1 1 A manuscript suitable for reading at the University New Year's Eve party. Do you choose poetry reading or prose reading?
If the party is too lively, we should also choose a happy topic appropriately, not too heavy. . .
The manuscript depends on whose work you like. . . . .
The last rose in summer is recommended for girls to recite the art test.
Thomas Moore
This is the last rose in summer,
Or a person;
All her beautiful companions,
Has withered and died;
There are no more flowers,
By her side,
Reflect her blushing face,
Sigh with her and grieve with her.
I don't want to see you continue to suffer,
Stay alone on the branch;
Because all the lovely companions are asleep,
Why don't you go with them?
So I put your fragrant petals
Scattered gently on the flower bed,
Let you reunite with your dear friends.
Buried in incense soil.
When a lover's gold ring,
Lose the shine of jewelry,
When that precious friendship withered,
I also want to go with you.
When the loyal heart withers,
My dear person is dead,
Who wants to live alone,
In this bleak world.
"Forget me"
-Shu Ting
Blue flame
Jumping between movable type flowing ice cubes
A small book slipped from my hand.
Haven't landed yet.
I have finished it.
A beautiful elopement
You, so to speak.
Just you?
Meet unexpectedly tomorrow.
Multi-year diary index
Express one's feelings
Silent signature
Or a birthday present preserved by memory.
From the fence of youth to now.
I remember.
This was hundreds of years ago.
Hundreds of years.
The soul sheds its shell again and again.
Why is it always like this?
These three words wake up.
forget-me-not
forget-me-not
Who forgot me?
Who did I forget?
dawn redwood
The water is very cold
calmly
Let the confused clouds follow the clouds.
overlie
sincere
sunset
Outline mottled scales
Go to the shady bay
Light-carrying
Is it a hand that can bounce every time?
Autumn is getting stronger.
There is heaven and water.
Go your own way, but there are many solutions.
Insomnia that night.
Tossing and turning can't escape your long glance.
through the years
I trip over this string every day.
every day
On the picture of your ignorance.
Wake up
Go to sleep.
Until my feet are cold again.
Shui Yi
A warm little southerly wind pierced the stick.
white butterfly
You call me gardenia
know nothing at all
You once had a Metasequoia name.
And the season when the backlight fades.
I won't talk about it.
I don't have to say I'm one of your kind.
In an instant.
White secrets have infiltrated you.
When I sigh
Suddenly reach out your hand and wither.
One minute in the cafe.
Red light. Green light. Horn and bell
Through the French window
On a still face.
Cause a raging fire
noise
Glow dimly
eye
That unfathomable silence
The cup is full of night.
There is no heating.
The bell of the Drum Tower rang dully.
Yi Yi Zhang Chi
Expansion has edges and infinite distance.
The crowded formation of time
Took a woman in batches
Unknown crisis
Follow the road of memory
Feather shadow density
Rational disbelief comforts the soul.
Everything will pass.
Pain and loneliness
This may be the theme of an evening.
But one night,
Belong to oneself
Incandescent lamps and cold eyes
Put reserves into investment
ice carving
The soul and name eager to escape
I can't find a shadow to hide.
the next day
The silent accompaniment of sunshine, all this.
Has slowly turned into
popular song
A style of performance
The trumpet is the lamp of a lonely house in the wilderness.
Saxophone is a light and soft snowflake.
drop
Layer after layer.
Trumpets loom in the thin clouds.
In a pond in Saks.
Frogs sound one after another.
Fireflies bend the grass awn slightly.
The trumpet is tallow in autumn.
The saxophone was torn and surrounded by the swirling wind.
Raise your arms and pray for one last dance in the trunk.
The ground is red.
The trumpet suddenly pulled up.
Saxophone with foggy toes, forest music and deer.
brick by brick
brick by brick
The trumpet jumped out.
Saxophones spread out the ocean.
Wave after wave
It's all metallic sunlight.
Small standard is in sight.
There are many troops in saxophone.
The trumpet is desperate.
saxophone
Ah, saxophone suddenly became dumb.
Trumpet makes yourself rolling in the deep.
Broke the echo of rain and pearls
Saxophone stood on the stone throat and howled.
The sun is sinking in the west
I'm here to take your place, sister.
(Akhmatova)
"I'm here to replace you, sister,
By a bonfire deep in the forest.
Your hair is gray and your eyesight is poor.
Autumn brings tears to my eyes.
You no longer remember the songs of birds,
You can't find stars and lightning.
I can't hear the tambourine beating any more,
I know you are afraid of silence. "
"You have come to bury me.
Where are your shovels and shovels?
You only have a flute in your hand.
I won't blame you,
My voice stopped long ago,
Is it worth regretting?
Please put on my clothes,
Forget my worries,
Let the wind blow curly hair.
You smell like cloves,
Walking on a steep road,
In order to be an illuminated person. "
One left and gave it to the other.
Make room, make room.
Stumbling, like a blind man,
Walking on a strange and narrow road.
She seems to see everything nearby.
There's a flame ... with a tambourine in his hand.
She's like a white flag,
And she, like the light of a lighthouse.
19 12
(Wesley Wang)
Heavy snow in Hunan
Author: love
-Give Changsha Li.
When I leave here,
Reluctantly say goodbye
I'm back now
The snow bent the branches.
Wen Jun's return date.
The date of return has long been written in the rain of the late Tang Dynasty.
In the rain of Bashan
Take me in the rain
It took two thousand years to condense into this heavy snow.
Fall on Dongting Lake
Autumn on Yuelu Mountain
Fall in front of your sleepless window
It's snowing.
Complex and simple silence
Silence is the same.
Your desk is illuminated by candlelight.
At first, a cold wind swept the curtains.
I went straight to your study.
Looked up and looked around, and the walls were charming.
Snow dyed my beard white.
It was also dyed white.
The center of our hearts
Before greeting
A little distant.
Fortunately, the smell of wine on the stove
Gradually dispelled the chill of history.
You said:
Wine is the way home at dusk.
All right! All right! I raise my glass with pleasure.
Then he coughed heavily.
A cough with a strong Hunan accent
Only surprise.
Cold snow coming from the window.
Fly back
You and I are together on this snowy night.
Thousands of miles away, suddenly shrinking into an inch of knees.
Tea buds wither early.
This flower has been destroyed.
What we have tonight
Just a candle that needs to be cut.
The candle is very short.
And the words in the ashes can be piled up into a history.
You often suggest drinking.
This sentence begins with the phrase "There is a red commotion in the quiet stove".
Drinking is a shallow smile.
This is a silent sigh
It is a kind of bitterness that I want to say but can't be broken.
This is a pile of old letters.
Just be caring and attentive.
It's a plate of bacon fried with poetic aesthetics.
It's a bowl of crucian carp with "one side lotus"
That's Jiang Tao in your chest.
Waves in my blood.
It is a poem that Chu people are more successful than tears.
This was an exciting time in the 1950s.
This is the spirit of the sixties.
At this time, there was a rustling sound outside the window.
Shh! You listen quietly.
not bad
Just a pair of spikes through the snow.
Snow falls silently.
The street fell asleep and the street lamp woke up.
The soil fell asleep, but the root woke up.
The birds are asleep and their wings are awake.
The temple is sleeping and the bell is awakening.
The mountains and rivers slept and the scenery woke up.
Sleep in spring and the seeds wake up.
The limbs fell asleep and the blood woke up.
The book fell asleep and the poem woke up.
History is sleeping and time is awakening.
The world is asleep, you and I are awake.
Snow falls silently.
The night is deep.
You've been adding fuel to my wine.
It's very cold outside.
Extremely hot in the body
Have a cup of herbal tea.
Let a little awake to regulate internal and external body temperature.
Tomorrow or no more panic.
Because we finally understand
Wash your eyes with white in the snow
Refine your thoughts by condensing in the snow.
Myths fabricated in the past
This is just a bed.
People woke up in the middle of the night and had a sweaty nightmare with heavy clothes.
We have withstood the test of the wind.
frost/frostlike powder
harm
ache
Persisted and gave up.
Sometimes I hold my head high.
Sometimes I bury my head in the sand.
Those lost years
In those years, they carried lanterns to find their own shadows.
Already is
That was before the heavy snow.
Tonight, maybe we can allow some arguments.
Some eyebrows.
Some of them are tragic.
I want to say too much.
Forgot to say more.
Lamenting is not not not singing.
But when I opened my mouth, I was choked by bouts of wine.
Be forced to retreat
Jianghu Hao Hao
Storm.
I will visit in the snow tonight.
I don't know where is my other side tomorrow.
You and I were never together.
A fat, well-dressed teenager
But tonight I'm going to talk about the vastness of the universe.
This world is so ambiguous.
Who can decipher the impermanence of this life?
Push the window for heaven
The sky should be cold with a clear bone.
say goodbye to
When you light the candle again, in the instant darkness.
I flew.
Become a blank.
Chasing the sun hundreds of millions of miles away.
Just to find the answer.
Recommend a poem suitable for middle-aged women to recite, Xu Zhimo, the happiness of snowflake
If I were a snowflake,
Handsome in midair,
I must know my direction clearly.
Fly, fly, fly,
This land has my direction.
Don't go to that cold valley,
Don't go to the desolate foothills,
I won't go to the deserted street to be disappointed.
Fly, fly, fly,
Look, I have my direction!
Dancing in the air,
Identify quiet homes,
Wait for her to visit in the garden.
Fly, fly, fly,
Ah, she smells like cinnabar plum!
I was naked at that time,
Yingying touched her skirt,
Close to her tender heart
Dissolve, dissolve, dissolve
Into her gentle heart!
See: lit 123. /article/showarticle.asp？ ArticleID=308
There are audio files, you can listen to them. I don't like the term "middle-aged woman" very much. I feel that these four words are just victims of the family. I feel that these four words can only live in "family life". Try to care more about your mother. She will be very touched.
Personally, I think recitation is not limited by age and status, but depends on your own emotional integration and voice expression.
I'm going to take part in a beauty contest that I love the language and writing of my motherland recently. Please recommend some articles suitable for reciting. Thank you. Motherland, My Dear Motherland is Shu Ting's masterpiece.
Sincere language, passionate feelings. Suitable for reciting.
Can you recommend some good reading manuscripts to me? Suitable for girls. Ai Qing's snowy morning is very suitable, and there are more emotional rain lanes or I am a flowering tree. The latter is not easy to grasp, and the most exciting thing is that I used a broken palm.
This is read by six girls. Please recommend the red poem "I love this land" suitable for girls to read.
If/I were a bird, I would also/sing with a hoarse throat: this land hit by the storm/this ever-surging/our sadness/river, this endless/blowing/irritating/wind, and that/incomparably gentle/dawn from the forest ...-and then/I died, even with feathers. Why/my eyes/often contain tears? Because/I love this land deeply. ...
Dai Wangshu's "I Use Broken Palm"
I groped for this vast land with my broken palm: this corner has turned to ashes, and there is only blood and mud in that corner; This lake should be my hometown. In spring, the bank is full of flowers, and the tender willow branches are broken with strange fragrance. ) I touch seaweed and cool water. The snow peaks in Changbai Mountain are freezing cold, and the water and sediment of the Yellow River slip through your fingers. In the rice fields in the south of the Yangtze River, your new grass is thin and soft ... Now there is only Artemisia scoparia; Litchi flowers in Lingnan are lonely and withered. As far as there is concerned, I am immersed in the bitter water of the South China Sea without fishing boats ... The invisible palm sweeps the infinite mountains and rivers, my fingers are stained with blood and ash, and my palms are stained with darkness. Only the distant corner is still intact, warm, clear, firm and vigorous. On it, I touched it with my broken palm, like a lover's soft hair, like a baby's milk. I put all my strength on the palm of my hand and put it on it, sending love and all my hopes, because only where there is sun and spring will we drive away the darkness and bring Su Sheng, because only there will we not live like animals and die like ants … There, eternal China!
Mu Dan's praise is great love.
Countless ups and downs of mountains, rivers, grasslands, countless dense villages, chickens crowing and dogs barking successively in the land of Asia, whistling the dry wind in the boundless weeds, singing monotonous water flowing eastward under the low-pressure dark clouds, and silently hugging me in the melancholy forest in countless years of being buried: endless stories are endless disasters, and silent love is an eagle flying in the sky. I have too many words and too long feelings. I want to hug you with desolate deserts, bumpy roads and mule carts, grooved boats, wild flowers and rainy weather. I want to hug you with everything, people you and I can see everywhere, people living in shame, people with rickets. I want to hug you with blood-stained hands, because a nation has risen. A farmer, with a rough body moving in the field, is a woman's child and the father of many children. How many dynasties rose and fell on him, pinning hopes and disappointments on him, and he would always turn silently behind the plow, turning up the same soil that dissolved his ancestors, and the same image of suffering solidified on the roadside. How many happy songs have passed on the road, and how many times have you followed his heart? On the way, people were talking, shouting and in high spirits. However, he didn't. He just put down the old hoe, re-believed in nouns, and dissolved into the love of the public. He firmly watched himself disappear into death. The road is infinitely long, but he can't cry. He didn't cry, because a nation has. Surrounded by mountains, under the blue sky, when the Spring and Autumn Period passed by his house, there was the most subtle sadness in the deep valley: an old woman was waiting for her children, and many children were waiting for hunger, but they endured it. The roadside was still the hut, with darkness, the same unknown fear, and the same erosion of the soil of natural life. When he left, he did not look back and curse. I want to hug everyone for him, and I have lost the comfort of hugging him. We can't give happiness because of him. Let's cry for him, because a nation has risen. It's the same old wind, and it's also the endless * * * and cold emanating from this sloping roof. It sings on the top of withered trees, it blows through barren swamps, reeds and insects, and it is also the sound of crows flying by. When I walk by and stand on the road, I will trip.