Homesick poetry, not poetry, urgent

Fathers and Fellow Folks

I was born in a small mountain village.

There are my fathers and fellow villagers there.

The beard is full of stories.

There is a local accent buried in the smile.

Call me by my name one after another.

Call me by my name one after another.

How much intimacy, how much love.

How happy I am, my father, my fellow villagers.

Ah, father, old folks.

My hard-working and kind fathers and fellow villagers.

The tree is a thousand feet tall and cannot forget the roots.

I have lived in quite a few small mountain villages.

There are my fathers and fellow villagers everywhere.

Little rice raised me.

Teach me to be a man in the wind and rain.

Send me on my way at parting.

Send me on my way at parting.

A lot of advice, a lot of expectations.

A lot of affection, my father, my fellow villagers.

Ah, father, old folks.

My hard-working and kind fathers and fellow villagers.

The tree is a thousand feet tall and cannot forget the roots.

I share the joys and sorrows of my fathers and fellow villagers.

The Wine of September 9

It's September 9 again, and it's hard to get together on the night of the Double Ninth Festival.

Homesick people drift outside.

It's September 9 again, and it's even more sorrowful.

The intention of going home is always on my mind.

Let's go, go to September 9.

There are no spirits in another country, no greetings.

Only then can there be freedom in the family, and only then can there be September 9th.

Relatives and friends raise their glasses and pour them full of wine.

Drink this nostalgia drunk and fall at the door of the house.

Only then can there be freedom at home, and only then can there be September 9.

Good People, Good Dreams" In the spring, your smile warmly touched me.

Say goodbye to the hurt and pain of yesterday, my heart knows best.

Even though the night is dark, I know where to go.

I walked with you through the rain and the wind, and slowly drew my heart closer.

Just let me silently and sincerely for you in silence and all for you.

Needless to say, having a long relationship makes it feel different.

Even if there are all kinds of customs in the world, I still have a soft spot.

My dear, I bless you forever, good people have good dreams.

Good people have good dreams.

Hometown clouds Clouds drift across the sky of hometown.

It keeps calling to me.

When the breeze around you blows gently.

A voice was calling to me.

Come back, come back.

A wanderer who wanders the world.

Don't wander around.

Walking on heavy footsteps.

The road home is so long.

When the breeze around you blows gently.

Come back, come back.

A wanderer who wanders the world.

Come back, come back.

I'm tired of wandering.

I'm exhausted.

There were sour tears in his eyes.

The wind of the homeland, the clouds of the homeland.

Erase the wounds for me.

I used to be proud.

Returned with an empty bag.

The wind of the homeland, the clouds of the homeland.

Heal my wounds.

music...

Blowing the fragrance of the soil of the hometown.

Come back, come back.

A wanderer who wanders the world.

Come back, come back.

Come back, come back.

Don't wander around.

I'm exhausted.

There were sour tears in his eyes.

The wind of the homeland, the clouds of the homeland.

Erase the wounds for me.

I used to be proud.

The wind of the homeland, the clouds of the homeland.

Heal my wounds.

Returned with an empty bag.

The wind of the homeland, the clouds of the homeland.

Heal my wounds.

Homesickness in the afterglow.

When I was a child, nostalgia was a small stamp, I was at one end and my mother was at that end.

When I grew up, nostalgia was a narrow ticket, I was at this end, and the bride was at that end.

Later, nostalgia was a low grave, I was outside, and my mother was inside.

And now, nostalgia is a shallow strait, I am at this end, and the mainland is at that end.

It's that cricket, the quicksand river.

Mr. Y of Taiwan said: "Overseas, when you hear a cricket at night, you will think that it is the one you heard in the countryside of Sichuan. ”

It's that cricket.

The sound of steel wings flapping against the golden wind.

One jump jumped over the strait.

Quietly landed from the sky over Taipei.

Fall in your yard.

Singing night and night is the cricket.

sang in "Wind July".

Sang in "Tang Feng Cricket".

sang in "Nineteen Ancient Poems".

Sang next to Mulan's loom.

It was sung in Jiang Kui's lyrics.

The laborer has heard it, and the thinking woman has heard it.

It's that cricket.

I sang on the side of the post road deep in the mountains.

Sang on the beacon of the Great Wall.

Sang in the patio of the inn.

Sang among the weeds of the battlefield.

Wounded soldiers have heard of it in the lonely living room.

It's that cricket.

Sing in your memory.

Singing in my memory.

Sing about childhood surprises.

Singing about the loneliness of middle age.

I think of carving bamboo to make a cage.

I think of the lantern fence falling.

Think of moon cakes Think of osmanthus.

I think of a pomegranate fruit full of pearls.

I think of the yellow leaves flying in the old garden.

I think of the remnants of the wild pond.

I think of the wild goose flying south.

I think of the piles of haystacks in the field.

I remembered that my mother called us back to add clothes.

I think of the years that have secretly flowed away many, many times.

It's that cricket.

Sing on the other side of the channel.

Sing on this side of the Channel.

Singing in an alley in Taipei.

Singing in a village in Sichuan.

Everywhere every Chinese trail goes.

Singing everywhere is more monotonous than the most monotonous piece of music.

More harmonious than the most harmonious speakers.

Condensation is dewdrops.

Burning into light is a firefly.

Turning into a bird is a partridge.

Crying in the hearts of the homesick.

It's that cricket.

Sing outside your window.

You're listening, you're missing.

I'm listening, I'm groaning.

You can guess what I'm moaning.

I'll guess what you're thinking.

The Chinese have the Chinese mentality.

The Chinese have the ears of the Chinese.

Nostalgia. In the quiet night of this ancient city, I heard the Ming flute that I had heard in my hometown, although it was separated by thousands of mountains and rivers, but there was also a song that was equally injured.

What happened to me was remembered, but it was not my father and mother who had been separated for a long time, in the breeze, the reeds and trees on both sides of the pond.

The wandering duckweed holds the thread of longing.

As big as the sky gets, it flies as far as it goes.

The wandering footprints extend the blood of family affection.

As far as the earth is, it will seep deeper.

Burdened with this heavy debt.

Sigh for the moon What day.

in order to be filial to the knees.

A slender reflection of a shear.

Shake the moonlight on the ground.

Flying eagles passing by the snowfields of their hometown.

It was a yearning for a thousand dreams.

Looking back at the fruit of first love.

Whether it still hangs on the memory laurel tree and exudes fragrance.

On this moonlit night, the bleak autumn wind.

Will be a floating heart.

It is getting cooler and cooler.

Nostalgia. In the afterglow.

When I was a child, nostalgia was a small stamp.

I'm on this side, and my mother is on the other side.

Growing up, nostalgia is a narrow ticket.

I'm on this end and the bride is on that end.

Later, nostalgia is a low grave.

I'm outside, my mother is inside.

And now nostalgia is a shallow strait.

I'm on this side, and the continent is on the other side.

Homesickness Xi Murong.

The song of the hometown is a clear flute.

Always on a moonlit night.

The face of the hometown is a vague longing.

It's like waving goodbye in the fog.

After parting, nostalgia is a tree without annual rings.

Never grow old.

Homesickness Xi Murong.

The song of the hometown is a clear flute.

Always on a moonlit night.

The face of the hometown is a vague longing.

It's like waving goodbye in the fog.

After parting, nostalgia is a tree without annual rings.

Never grow old.

Sauvignon Blanc Nalan sexuality.

A trip to the mountain, a trip to the water, the body to the side of Yuguan, a thousand tent lights in the middle of the night.

The wind is changing, the snow is changing, the dream of the broken hometown cannot be realized, and there is no sound in the old garden.

Tianjing Shaqiu Si.

Withered vines and old trees, faint crows, small bridges and flowing water, ancient roads and westerly winds and thin horses.

The sun is setting, and the heartbroken man is at the end of the world.

I think it's better to be slow and du

Seek and seek. zhi, cold and lonely, miserable and miserable.

DAO relatives. Back when it's warm and cold.

waiting, the most difficult to rest.

Three glasses and two cups of light wine, how can he be the enemy and be in a hurry late? The geese are also sad, but they are old acquaintances.

Yellowfare flowers are piled up all over the ground. Haggard and damaged, who can pick it up now? Guarding the window, how can you be born dark alone?

Sycamore is more and drizzle, to dusk, bit by bit. This time, what a one, sad words!

Nostalgia.

The song of Xi Murong's hometown is a clear flute.

It always rings on a moonlit night.

The face of his hometown is a vague melancholy.

It's like waving goodbye in the fog.

Homesickness after parting is a tree without annual rings.

Never grow old. Homesickness in the afterglow.

As a child, nostalgia is a small stamp.

I'm on this side, and my mother is on the other side.

Growing up, nostalgia is a narrow ticket.

I'm on this end and the bride is on that end.

Later, nostalgia is a low grave.

I'm outside, my mother is inside.

And now nostalgia is a shallow strait.

I'm on this side, and the continent is on the other side.

Alone in a foreign land as a stranger, every festival is full of relatives.

The remote knowledge brothers ascended to the heights, and there was one less person in the dogwood. Tang Dynasty. Wang Wei, "Memories of Shandong Brothers on September 9th".

The cold lights of the hotel never sleep, and the guest's heart turned sad.

The hometown thinks of thousands of miles tonight, and the frost sideburns are another year in the Ming Dynasty. Except for the night as Tang Gaoshi.

1. A sound of sycamores and a sound of autumn, a little banana and a little sorrow, the three watches return to the dream after the three watches. Xu Zaisi "Water Fairy Night Rain".

2. People say that the sunset is the end of the world, and the end of the world is not home. Li Jing's "Homesickness".

3. The moon is born on the sea, and the end of the world is at this time. Zhang Jiuling, "Looking at the Moon and Huaiyuan".

4, don't worry about the road ahead without knowing yourself, no one in the world knows you. Gao Shi "Don't Dong Da Second Song".

5. I asked if Lingnan should be bad, but I said: This place of peace of mind is my hometown. Su Shi's "Juvenile Tour: The South China Sea Returns to Wang Dingguo's Servant".

6. The dew is white tonight, and the moon is the hometown of Ming. Du Fu's "Remembering My Brother on a Moonlit Night".

7. Singing during the day must be indulged in wine, and youth is a good companion to return home. Du Fu's "Wen Guanjun Collects Henan and Hebei".

8, Luoyang relatives and friends ask each other, a piece of ice heart in the jade pot. Wang Changling's "Furong House Sends Xin Gradually".

9, the spring breeze and the south bank of the Green River, when will the bright moon shine on me? Wang Anshi's "Docking Boats in Guazhou".

10. Deciduous trees, cold lights and lonely nights. Ma Dai's "Autumn Residence on the Ba".

The lonely sail is far away and the sky is clear, but the Yangtze River skyline is seen.

The mountain loop turns around, and the snow leaves a place for horses.

1 When you come from your hometown, you should know about your hometown.

In front of the window in the coming day, the cold plum is not blooming? (Wang Wei: "Miscellaneous Poems") 2 The young left home and returned to the eldest child, and the hometown accent has not changed, and the sideburns have declined.

When children don't know each other, they smile and ask where do they come from? (He Zhizhang: "Returning to the Hometown Doll Book") 3 The Lingwaiyin book is broken, and the winter is restored to spring.

The hometown is even more timid, and he doesn't dare to ask anyone. (Song Zhiwen: "Crossing the Han River") 4 Outside the green mountains of Klook, in front of the green water.

The tide is wide on both sides, and the wind is hanging.

The sea is born in the night, and the people of Jiangchun are old.

Where to reach the township book, return to the side of Yanluoyang. (Wang Wan: "Under the Solid Mountain in the Second Bei") 5 people have only been seven days in spring, and they have been away from home for two years.

After the people return to the geese, they think in front of the flowers. (Xue Daoheng: "People Thinking of Returning") 6 The bright moonlight in front of the bed is suspected to be frost on the ground.

Raise your head to look at the bright moon and bow your head to think of your hometown. (Li Bai: "Silent Night Thoughts") 7 Whose jade flute flew in the dark, scattered into the spring breeze in Los Angeles.

In this nocturne, I smell the willows, who can't afford the love of the old garden. (Li Bai: "Listening to the Flute in Los Angeles on a Spring Night") 8 The guest house and the state have been frosty, and the heart remembers Xianyang day and night.

For no reason, he crossed the dry water, but he looked at the state as his hometown. (Liu Soap: "Traveling to Shuo Fang") 9 The drums cut off the pedestrians, and the sound of geese in the autumn.

The dew is white from tonight, and the moon is the hometown of Ming.

There are brothers who are scattered, and there is no home to ask about life and death.

The length of the letter is not reached, and the army has not ceased to be suspended. Du Fu's "Remembering My Brother on a Moonlit Night".

Raise your head to look at the bright moon and bow your head to think of your hometown.

"September 9th Memories of Shandong Brothers".

Tang Dynasty. Wang wei. Alone in a foreign land as a stranger, every festival is full of relatives.

The remote knowledge brothers ascended to the heights, and there was one less person in the dogwood.

Farewell to Jingmen".

Tang Dynasty. Li bai. Poetry is far outside Jingmen, to travel from Chu country.

The mountains follow the plains, and the rivers flow into the great wilderness.

Under the moon, the flying mirror, the clouds are born and the sea is built.

still pity the hometown water, thousands of miles to see off the boat.

Qingpingle, Don't Come to Spring and a Half".

Five generations of Southern Tang. Li yu.

Don't come to the spring and a half, it's shocking and soft. The plum blossoms are like snow, and they are still full.

There is no evidence for the news of the wild goose, and it is difficult to realize the dream of returning to the road. Away from hatred is just like spring grass, go farther and live.

A sound of sycamore, a sound of autumn, a little plantain and a little sorrow, the three watches return to the dream after the three watches. Xu Zaisi "Water Fairy Night Rain".

This place of peace is my hometown. Su Shi's "Juvenile Tour: The South China Sea Returns to Wang Dingguo's Servant".

People say that the sunset is the end of the world, and you can't see your home at the end of the world. Li Jing's "Homesickness".

The moon is born on the sea, and the end of the world is at this time. Zhang Jiuling, "Looking at the Moon and Huaiyuan".

Don't worry about the road ahead, no one in the world knows you. Gao Shi "Don't Dong Da Second Song".

The dew is white from tonight, and the moon is the hometown of Ming. Du Fu's "Remembering My Brother on a Moonlit Night".

Singing during the day must indulge in wine, and youth is a good companion to return home. Du Fu's "Wen Guanjun Collects Henan and Hebei".

The spring breeze is on the south bank of the Green River, when will the bright moon shine on me? Wang Anshi's "Docking Boats in Guazhou".

Luoyang relatives and friends asked each other, and a piece of ice was in the jade pot. Wang Changling's "Furong House Sends Xin Gradually".

Tonight, the moon is bright, and I don't know whose house the autumn thoughts are. Wang Jian's "Fifteen Nights Looking at the Moon and Sending Du Langzhong".

Deciduous trees, cold lights and lonely nights. Ma Dai's "Autumn Residence on the Ba".

The hometown is even more timid, and he doesn't dare to ask anyone. Song Zhi asked "Crossing the Han River".

Whose jade flute flew darkly, scattered into the spring breeze full of Los Angeles. Li Bai "Listening to the Flute in Luoyang City on a Spring Night, Listening to the Flute in Luoyang City on a Spring Night".

I hope that people will last a long time, and they will be together for thousands of miles. Su Shi's "Water Tune Song Tou Bingchen Mid-Autumn Festival".

Raise a glass to invite Mingyue, and the shadow becomes a trio. Li Bai "Four Songs Alone Under the Moon: One of Them".

The wind is changing, the snow is changing, the dream of the broken hometown cannot be realized, and there is no sound in the old garden. Nalan Xingde's "Sauvignon Blanc Mountain".

Only the mirror lake in front of the door, the spring breeze does not change the old waves. He Zhizhang "Two Songs of Returning to the Hometown".