Ask for a touching prose to be recited, preferably about family affection. There are good ones and

Family affection is an eternal topic for human beings. As long as we live in the world, or as long as we live, we can't do without family affection. So what do you know about family recitations? Below I have compiled a few recitations about family affection for you, I hope it will be helpful to you.

Love to listen to your sleeping breathing.

There should be more rest like this.

Your tiredness makes my heart anxious.

Which one is smoothed out first.

It's like a meandering river flowing slowly.

The endless warmth of my heart embraced me.

It was your tired figure that spurred me on.

Closer to you, closer to you.

The cry in my heart won't let me listen.

Your shoulders, your shoulders.

Carry the hidden rivers and mountains, carry the sun and the moon.

Forever and ever, no regrets and no complaints.

The fiery love of the yard pin is hot in the heart.

Manuscript of the recitation on family affection II.

In my sleep, I saw clearly.

Grandpa's face was full of wrinkles.

In my sleep, I saw clearly.

Grandma's head full of gray hair.

A mood of sudden awakening in sleep.

I cried and the night stayed at this moment.

Tears condensed at this time.

Try to search for the shadow of your grandparents.

I found out that it was in my heart.

They're the place.

It has long been covered with dust.

At this moment, my mood in the World Model Hall is self-blame.

It's been a long, long time, maybe not again.

This time the heart trembled.

Innocent wrinkles.

Damn gray hair.

Unknowingly, it devours their annual rings.

And I'm still secretly rejoicing.

I'm a year older.

Against the cold season.

Looking at the empty night sky.

The air you breathe is so clear.

The only little hidden emotion.

It's an indescribable family affection.

But it's hidden

Recitation Manuscript 3 on Family Affection: The Taste of Family Affection.

Tobacco wine is fragrant, and the aroma of wine is strong, which is the taste of my father.

The food is fragrant, fragrant and sweet, that is the taste of mother.

Ah, the taste of parents is happiness lingering.

How can the kindness of parents be reciprocated.

The chest and shoulders are wide and majestic, which is the taste of the husband.

Love is warm and dedicated, that is the taste of wife.

Ah, the taste of husband and wife, is the vine tree leaning on each other.

Husband and wife are in love, holding hands until they grow old.

Shelter from the wind and rain, manly demeanor, that's the taste of my brother.

The rouge is fragrant, the friendship is long, that is the taste of my sister.

Ah, the taste of my brother and sister is to blow the seedlings with the wind.

How can I forget my brother's sister's love.

Innocent, naughty and playful, that's the taste of my brother.

Graceful, like a flower, that is the taste of my sister.

Ah, the taste of brother and sister, is a beautiful fairy tale ballad.

The innocence of the younger siblings, jumping the flame of hope.

Kangqiao's poem "Mother, you are our most beautiful spring."

Mom, how can I remember you.

Refer to the first one to show me.

Spring is the path that leads to spring.

It must be full of flowers.

When I was younger.

You hold me, you hold me, you lead me.

A winding path.

How many times have I walked.

I can shout spring myself.

On the path with flowers.

Mom: You hold one and lead two.

One child after another, six children.

We have walked through how many springs you have.

(from the web).

"The Wanderer's Song" is just a little shorter.

Ba Jin's "Star", I recited it, and the effect is not bad.

In a collection of Belgian short stories, I stumbled across a sentence like this:

Stars, beautiful stars, you are rolling in the boundless space, and I am the same, I understand your ......Yes, I understand your ......I'm ...... aloneA person who can feel ......A person in pain ......Stars, beautiful stars ......”

I understand the lamentation of this small employee at a Belgian station. That's how many people have spoken to the constellations in the blue sky. They are all unfortunate people in the world. The stars will always give them supreme comfort.

On a small stage in Shanghai, I saw Turgenev's German ** old Lunmont. He either sits in front of the piano and entrusts the noblest feelings in ** and presents it to a person; Or stand under the blue sky, shake his gray-haired head, and say in an admiring tone: "You beautiful star, you pure star."

Looking at the countless stars twinkling in the blue sky, his eyes moistened.

I understand the tears of this old ** family. This should be the spring rain that irrigates the soul.

Outside my room, there was a stretch of blue sky that wasn't obscured by the roof tiles. I looked up and could see a few stars embedded in the canopy. I often gazed at the beautiful stars.

They were like human eyes, looking at me with deep concern and never getting tired. Every time these eyes moved, it was like a blessing to me.

Stars don't fall in my sky. The thought of this makes my eyes wet too.

Mother is a pen, I am a piece of paper, I would rather wear myself out, but also compose beautiful music on paper; Mother is a wax that would rather burn herself silently than illuminate my heart.