Qi Jun once said affectionately, "Like trees and flowers, who can't have roots?" ? If I can forget my hometown, my relatives, my teachers and friends, my childhood, I would rather put down my pen and never write again in my life. "Homesickness is a complex that we can't give up all our lives. Please enjoy the following poems.
Yu Guangzhong
Homesickness is a small stamp when I was a child, and I am here.
Mom is over there; When I grow up, homesickness is a narrow boat ticket, and I am here.
The bride is over there; Later, homesickness was a short grave and I was outside.
Mom is inside; Now, homesickness is a shallow strait, and I am here.
Miss Xi Murong
The song of my hometown is the flute of Qingyuan, which always rings on the moonlit night.
The face of my hometown is a vague disappointment, like waving goodbye in the fog.
Homesickness after parting is a tree without rings.
AoHongliang's homesickness
Tears of homesickness dripped under the eaves of rainy days.
Swallow it into a bowl of rice.
Let homesick people get drunk in their dreams, and dreams are in the country.
That's a reed flute ringing in the homesickness.
Nostalgia beishi
My homesickness is the string holding the kite.
The farther away from home, the longer I miss you.
My homesickness is the wine treasured in my heart.
The longer you are away from home, the more mellow it tastes.
My homesickness is a star hidden in the sky, and the mainland is over there. Never grow old.
In the dead of night, they glow one after another. ...
My homesickness is the full moon over and over again;
My homesickness is a row of sailboats;
My homesickness is a continuous sea;
My homesickness is the distant shore.
Hometown is a magnet. My hometown is placenta.
My homesickness is a child's expectation for milk.
That is an anxiety that can't be rewarded, an unshakable yearning and attachment!
Error Zheng Chouyu
I walked across the south of the Yangtze River, waiting for the appearance of the season to fall like a lotus flower, and the catkins in March did not fly. Your heart is like a lonely little city, just like a bluestone street. The spring curtain in March didn't show your heart. It was a beautiful mistake to hold my horseshoe tightly. I am not a returnee, just a passer-by.
I love this land, Ai Qing.
If I were a bird,
I should also/with a hoarse throat/sing:
This storm/this land,
This is always surging/our sadness/river.