Half title essay on what to call!

Call for peace. When the dove of peace will be able to carry an olive branch to every part of the world, I am looking forward to it.

There was a boy and a girl, both of whom were very fond of keeping pigeons, and their way of flirting was pigeons, and the girl and the boy passed love letters to each other, the contents of which were known only to themselves. It was at this time that the war began. The boy went to enlist in the war, before leaving.

Boy and girl hugged tightly. The two of them revered the good life in the future. At the time of the breakup, the boy took the girl's carrier pigeon.

People laughed at him, only he understood. Because, when he carries a pigeon cage, he brings home with him, and the pigeon knows the way. When he took the first step to the battlefield, he was not one step closer to the war, but one step closer to home.

During a street fight, the boy was wounded. Flesh and blood blur. In the final moments, all the boy had on his mind was:

Go home, go home, you have to find a way to get home. The boy understood, and the Grim Reaper was smiling at his side. The pigeons in the cage also understand.

It sees the smoke and hears **. Manic. At the last moment, the boy's pigeon was released.

The carrier pigeon went back to the girl with his hopes.

I don't know how the pigeon will laugh at the stupid people down there, maybe it doesn't have to laugh at all, because it knows the way home.

In fact, no matter which side of the war is fighting, they have their own relatives, what are their wishes? Go home, go home.

I think that the white dove that the boy threw at the moment of death must have taken the boy's life and soul away. When the boy was taken away by death. The pigeon returned to the man he loved. Returned to his home.

Returning home is not only the wish of every Israeli, but also the wish of every ordinary person. Look at the United States. War after war. How many innocent people died in that barren land.

As everyone who goes to war, they all want to go home, and they actually carry their own invisible pigeon cages. Because that's their own home. I would like to ask those involved in the war:

When you worked hard to kill a man for your officers, did you think about how their families felt? Who can stand in the way of a man's way home?

As Chinese, don't we call for peace? No, at the Olympics in Beijing. Isn't the opening ceremony held by Zhang Yimou just to let the audience release the dove of peace with gestures and hearts?

I hope that we are truly calling for peace.

When will the Dove of Peace be able to carry an olive branch to every place? I'm looking forward to it.

Listen to the call of the autumn rain.

In the beautiful and slightly bleak autumn, I always feel like a ghost alone, with the gloom and melancholy of the autumn wind. A person comes with the autumn rain and goes away with the autumn rain.

Every time I look at the autumn rain fluttering in the air, my irritable mood is like blowing into a cool wind, and the cold and dripping raindrops accompany the sun-like heart, leaving me with the kind of clear rhyme, which is an indelible impression. The ethereal in the indifference, the refreshingness, always leaves an endless demeanor and countless mysteries.

I don't know when I started to like the feeling of hiding in the autumn rain, maybe it was just the fantasy that the autumn rain brought to me attracted me. In the face of the autumn rain, the wonderful fantasy in my heart, like a flat boat full of inspiration, gently knocked on my heart and sailed into the ......

In the dripping autumn rain, I looked through the shallow rain curtain and with a pool of eyes as clear as water, and saw that the dust in the sky was washed away by the autumn rain. The refreshment of a long absence, stranded in this spotless world. The fallen leaves of the sycamore, in these rainy days, recalling the paper kite of the past, raising the starlight of the heart, bright, pure, and spreading.

Comb the messy hair covered with water droplets at will, shake the clothes wet by the rain, and look at the red tiles of the rustic house, the crystal water droplets in the rain, hitting and splashing ......, like autumn tears, flashing drop by drop, with beauty and desolation. Looking at the mist on the lenses of my glasses, I could feel this group of petite elves shuttling through my heart. It's as if they were my life, enough for me to be moved by this for the rest of my life.

Quietly listening to the call of the autumn rain is like listening to a novel poem. The rain swaying in the wind, me walking in the autumn rain, the wind talking to the autumn rain, and maybe you, are all the scenery in this poem. My heartstrings, gently tugged at by the autumn rain, wandered through the bleak long night, wandering in the autumn rain, galloping freely.

Have you listened to the call of the autumn rain? Autumn rain is the soul of autumn and the embodiment of beauty. Listen quietly, the murmur of the autumn rain echoes in a lonely field, echoing ......

For example, the call of love, you can write something about *** who has a serious illness and urgently needs funds, and then the society ** intervenes in something generous and so on.

The call of the heart can write about the things that have been wrong, the hard work of seeing the parents, admitting mistakes, living happily, and so on.

The call of freedom.

When I went to the library, I wrote one of my own.