Modern poems describing hometown

The song nostalgic for Xi Murong's hometown is a flute in Qingyuan. It always rings on a moonlit night, but the face of my hometown is a vague disappointment. After parting, homesickness is a tree without rings. When I was a child, homesickness was a small stamp/I was here/my mother grew up there/homesickness was a narrow ticket/I was here/my bride was there/homesickness was very short. The grave/I am outside/my mother is inside, and now/homesickness is a shallow strait/I am here/the mainland is there. Please sing a farewell song for me. Please use the forgotten ancient language and beautiful vibrato to gently call out the great rivers and mountains in my heart. Who said the tune of the farewell song was too sad? If you don't like it, it's because there is no desire for you in the song. We always have to sing it over and over again, like a golden grassland thousands of miles away. Light roared across the desert like sand, like a hero riding a horse on a shady mountain on the bank of the Yellow River and returning to his hometown: piccolo calling back the soul □ Yu Guangzhong's soul returns, mother, the East can't stay long, the tropical ocean where the typhoon was born, and the air pressure in the North Pacific in July is very low. Come back, mom, the south won't stay long. On the equator in July, the one-way moxibustion on pedestrians' feet by the sun train. Come back, mother, the north can't stay long. In the white reindeer kingdom, there is no rest night in July, only daytime. Come back, mom, you can't stay in a foreign country for long. The small urn dreams of being next to the French window, accompanied by the plants you planted yourself. Come back, mom, and protect your town after the fire. Spring is coming, and I will tread the wet and cold Qingming Road and bury you in a small grave in my hometown. Bury you in Jiangnan, a small town in Jiangnan. Willows hang down to your grave. When spring comes, you should dream of a girl and your mother. On the Qingming Road, my footprints will be deep, and the willow's long hair will be dripping with rain. Mother, my memory will drop and my soul will come back. Mother, come and protect this empty city. Homesickness Xi Murong's hometown song is a flute in Qingyuan, which always rings on a moonlit night, but his hometown face is a vague disappointment, like waves in the fog. After parting, homesickness is a tree without rings and will never grow old. Nostalgia, Zheng Chouyu, I stare at the meteor and miss him, just like the gypsies in the universe in the cold paddock. We are tied to the horse in the same rope ditch. I have a name on the warm earth, and I have lost my old partner. I'm lonely. I want to tell him that the copper brazier on the pit of the small board house was baked by our own hands and sung into the wine-it is the sun of the earth, the heat source of everything, and why it is cold near and warm far away. I am also deeply puzzled that homesickness is a small stamp of Yu Guangzhong when he was a child. When my mother grew up there, homesickness was a narrow ticket. I'm at the bride's side. Homesickness is a short grave. I was there. Nostalgia Xi Murong's "Song of Hometown" is a flute in Qingyuan, which always rings on a moonlit night, but the face of my hometown is a vague disappointment, like waves in the fog. After parting, homesickness is a tree without rings and will never grow old. When I was a child, homesickness was a small stamp/I was here/my mother grew up there/homesickness was a narrow ticket/I was here/my bride was there/homesickness was very short. My grave/I am outside/my mother is inside, and now/homesickness is a shallow strait/I am here/the mainland is at the other end of Zheng Chouyu. I stare at the meteor and miss him like a gypsy in the universe. In a cold paddock, we tied horses together. I have a name on the warm earth, but I have lost my old partner. I'm lonely. I want to tell him that we used to bake copper braziers and sing wine in the pit of the shed.