Who has poems or prose related to nostalgia

I like the one in the afterglow the most!!

Homesickness" in the afterglow.

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.

Four rhymes of nostalgia. In the afterglow.

Give me a scoop of Yangtze River water, Yangtze River water.

The wine-like water of the Yangtze River.

The taste of drunkenness is the taste of nostalgia.

Give me a scoop of Yangtze River water, Yangtze River water.

Give me a palm of begonia red, begonia red.

The blood-like begonia red.

The burning pain of boiling blood is the burning pain of homesickness.

Give me a palm of begonia red, begonia red.

Give me a piece of snowflake white, snowflake white.

The letter is as white as a snowflake.

The waiting for that letter is the waiting of nostalgia.

Give me a piece of snowflake white, snowflake white.

Give me a plum fragrance.

The mother-like plum fragrance.

The fragrance of the mother is the fragrance of the land.

Give me a plum fragrance.

Homesickness Xi Murong.

The song of the hometown. It is a clear flute.

It always rings on a moonlit night.

The face of my hometown.

But it's a vague hope.

As if in the fog.

Wave goodbye. After parting.

Homesickness is a tree without annual rings.

Never grow old.

Tianjingsha Qiusi.

Ma Zhiyuan, withered vines and old trees, crows, small bridges and flowing water, ancient roads and westerly windy thin horses.

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

The hometown is far away, thousands of miles away, the hometown is very close, hidden in the memory is close at hand.

As a simple mountain liwa, nothing is inseparable from the mountains. I like to climb to the top of the hill behind the house alone, stand on the highest point and take in the whole thing, and the layers of mountains gradually fade like ink paintings, leaving a light stroke.

And what I remember the most is the only road to the outside world that is hidden under the mountains. I have witnessed its origin, which was earned by the hard work of the fathers with their hands and shoulders.

In the backward years, the slightest rain would make it muddy and impossible to put on. But this road is also a bridge to the outside world, and it is the only way for everyone who is far from their homeland. Carrying bags and walking in all directions, I don't know how many people have left helpless loneliness and melancholy on that dirt road.

I remember that in my childhood, I always watched my father's back slowly disappear on the path, and I couldn't hold back the pace of his departure when I ran and chased. Once, twice, three times......I don't know when, this has become a habit, and that road has turned into a lingering parting brand in my heart.

Later, when I grew up, I gradually understood the bitterness in my father's heart, and it was not his wish to become a stranger, just because it was the whole family that pressed him, and probably this was my father's nostalgia.

I am no longer a teenager in full circle, and I have walked out of the mountains and out of the hometown where I was born and raised. But when I am in a foreign land, I often miss that time that has passed, without too many worries and a future that I can't think about endlessly.

I would only touch a few fish and catch a few shrimp in the creek on the way home with my companions after school in the summer. Then we embarked on the way home with the singing all the way, and in the sunset, our shadows were dragged for a long, long time.

Or quietly carry the pot at home, bring the Zhaozhao Bicai from the home, and invite a group of people to a wild outing on a just spring day.

But the past is over after all, and it is impossible to go back, even if I don't want to grow up and don't want to leave, I am still mercilessly whipped all the way forward by the whip of time. I think this is probably my nostalgia.

Hometown, hometown! I don't know how to express this yearning, so I have to condense all my thoughts in that lonely moon and let it be sent to you in the distance!

The poems describing nostalgia are: In February, the south of the Yangtze River is full of flowers, and the cold food in other places is far from sad. Today, the north guest thinks and returns, and returns to the green Luo.

In addition to this, the poems that describe nostalgia are:1. The spring breeze blows the hometown dream overnight, and then chases the spring breeze to Los Angeles. - Wu Yuan's "Chunxing".

2. The hometown thinks of thousands of miles tonight, and worries about the Ming Dynasty for another year. ——Gao Shi's "Except for the Night".

3. In the Qin period, the bright moon and the Han period, the Long March has not been returned. ——Wang Changling's "Two Songs Out of the Stopper".

4. The dove dragged the rain across the river. ——Zhou Bangyan, "Huanxi Sand, Rising Water, Fish Sky Shooting Willow Bridge".

5. I can't open my stomach and feel depressed, and I am sad in this life. - Qiu Jin's "Nine Days of Feeling".

6. Township books cannot be sent, and the autumn geese return south. ——Wei Zhuang, "Zhangtai Night Thoughts".

7. From the east, Ding Weiyuan to Jinling, the river feels the dream and makes the swallow light, and the warbler is delicate. ——Jiang Kui, "Tasha Xing, Coming from the East".

8. There are also white bones returning to Xianyang, and the camp family has its own hometown. ——Wang Jian, "Crossing the Liao Water".

9, a glass of turbid wine is thousands of miles away, and Yan Ran has no plan. ——Fan Zhongyan, "Fisherman's Proud Autumn Thought".

10. Just broken intestines and provoked bitterness. ——Liu Yong, "The Remnant Rain on the Far Shore".

11. The white water is full of spring ponds, and the geese let each trillion soar. - Shen Yue, "Singing the Goose in the Lake".

12, Sanxiang is sad and sideburns are in autumn, and thousands of miles return to the moon. - Lu Lun, "Late Ezhou".

13. Now go back to the north and return to the green Luo. ——Liu Yuxi, "Two Bamboo Branch Words: Part II".