Essay about Qingming Festival, essay appreciation of Qingming Festival

Two lines of tears, without a trace, crying and sighing for the impermanence of life. Life is thin and dusty, floating and floating for more than seventy years, not as long as short, life and death. I haven't seen it, I'm angry, and I think that my children and grandchildren have never seen it.

In a trance, it is dusk in the first year, see you again, yin and yang, fireworks paper money read high hall, tears and resentment of the sky. Children and grandchildren are not filial, it is difficult to see today, and he is in peace.

Reminiscence, go back to the past, turn the head of the world to the end of the world, don't miss the flowers blooming and falling, just wait for spring. However, when people go, the soul is broken, and the flowers bloom in spring, and they can only see a dust. Morning and twilight are spring, graceful as autumn, broken chrysanthemums mourn the well-being of the living, and the well-being of the deceased.

Cinnabar tears, hurried to come, hurried to go, its broken soul is gone, resentful of the blue sky, hates the sky, a bumpy half of his life suffered, his old age is not good at his trace, who has lived?

The children and grandchildren do not know, they are ignorant and ridiculous, they are suspected of life and death, they come and go, they are virtual and real, or looking for or seeking. I haven't come, I haven't go, the breeze is blowing, the spring flowers are blooming, the years are safe, there are years of age, but the flowers fell last year. The old things are unforgettable, and the present is forgotten, and the ghost of the high hall is difficult to take.

I grieve, I don't treat life well, but death is powerful, so empty, so real, is it really a way for children and grandchildren? Every year Qingming, worship ancestors and burn incense, say more to protect the present, it is difficult to say that the deceased is safe.

Oh, hate and sigh ruthlessly, what am I?

Sleepless in the middle of the night, difficult to sleep, young and heavy, difficult to let go, and unforgettable. Qingming passers-by do not meet, and wake up in the south of the Yangtze River. It seems that the flowers did not bloom last year, I know each other, sigh for nothing, and the high hall is far away for a few spring and autumn. Oh, complaining and sighing, what am I?

Please be safe in spring, the rain is in Qingming and Qingming, passers-by are in tears, sighing, sighing, the living are well, and the dead are happy.

The famous prose about the Qingming Festival is as follows:

Qingming has arrived

Holding Chun's shoulders and arms, holding the wind's thin waist, I happily went to the green with the spring breeze. Sitting in the arms of the mountains, there is no calmness like Yanagishita Megumi, and I enjoy the enthusiasm of the spring boudoirs. Pulling the tip of a branch and touching his forehead, it's really a different feeling, spring is really coming.

Bringing the mountains all over the wilderness, the lush greenery that came one after another, I walked in the memories of the years. When you are tired, you can take a break in the phenomenon of spring, and when you are tired, you can drag the clothes of the wind to help you enjoy the fun, pick a small yellow flower and hold it in the palm of your hand, and enjoy the fairy scene of cherry blossoms blooming in spring. I can't help but think of my lover in the distance, use your rapid heartbeat to elope with the love next to my spine.

We crossed to the crescent moon bend to swing, stepped into the green, stepped out of the reverie of the wind and snow night, the beautiful jump of the green mountains, and the artistic conception of the fascination in the rest.

Qingming rain

The rain of Qingming has never stopped, not a minute early, not a minute late when the wind has just risen. Just when the rain comes, it rains, bit by bit. Like the tears of the old people, and like their telling, the friends of the drop into the heart.

Some of them I understood, and I packed my bags and walked back the way I came.

Another year of Qingming

It was another year of Qingming Festival next to the revolutionary ancestors, and the cold graves everywhere allowed the revolutionary blood to burn in the ground. Tears and a fire in front of the grave are like the blood of the revolutionary ancestors.

Use your life to die with the enemy, a pile of loess weeds, although it has slowly faded away, but your heroic deeds are a glorious history that can never be erased. I borrow incense and candles to miss you, but I can only grab a wisp of smoke, we, the revolutionary ancestors, are all fires, and the Huohuo burns and never goes out.