Urgent! The school holds a poetry recitation contest, requiring more than 300 words, and friends hel

Life one. One.

Years of glitz.

Crushed the poplar tree to hang down its branches.

The river is broken, and the mountain is embedded in the surface.

Beard sunken.

A wilderness far from the bustling city.

The camel continued on footsteps, treading on.

The state of mind of the lonely shadow of the green lantern of the releaser.

Watch the snow continue to burn and dance with soft long sleeves.

Wrapped in boundless cold, arrive at the heart of the plum blossom.

In the moonlight, the branches are covered with frost flowers.

Wandering, a plot that goes deep into the heart.

It becomes a fence that moves left and right, a fluttering fragment.

In the fragmented score, the continuous movement is performed.

Second. I've always wanted to be stubborn.

Smell the wind, listen to the moon, and watch the fog rise and fall.

The graceful river walks around.

Just because of the wilderness - the empty branches are full of fragrant birds.

Deliberately writing poetry.

Through some actions:

Stand or lie down, read or listen.

Look for subtle movements in space.

Stubborn fingers can always be easily trapped.

The taste of autumn is simple and straightforward.

Knowing that he is gone, he carries the green of the old forest.

The maple leaves spread over the mountains.

Open up another side of your life. Third.

Time passed me casually.

The wind flipped through the old pages in the sun.

I don't know if I've fallen into it.

Images that are stuck in yesterday.

Said many times in the steppe.

And I stood in the heart of the city as a small branch looking out.

Watch the wind skim through the windows of the city.

The constant release of the smell of silence.

Flocks of sheep paddled across the rolling sea.

The waves, showing Genghis Khan's strong strength.

A high-pitched introduction, a string of rain.

began to wash the sleeping Lele car.

Soft tents and patches of plateau red.

Spreading its wings, the black eagle tried to break.

Voles look for grassroots dreams, whose footsteps.

Stepping on the shadows?

The rushing river, with the dew dripping from the tips of the grass.

Constantly changing postures.

Reach your body into the distant horizon.

The melody of the city, from sunrise to sunset.

has been interpreting, but it can't penetrate the gap of time.

Arrive at the grassland and understand behind the vast thoughts of the grassland.

Who's looking like it's growing.

The days became a ritual.

Through constant rhetoric, continue the manifesto of some kind of growth.

Trying to remove a piece of bone.

Re-sculpt the appearance of childhood.

Then put 300 Tang poems.

Re-wash and then bask in the sun.

Let the wind blow through the hunting grounds.

All the ashes fell into the books.

Life is like this from the constant shut-off.

Open again and again.

Su Lun's "Sanya Dream.

Sanya Dream Hunting I came to this place gently, full of sadness and melancholy;

I just want to be able to roll up the waves one day, so that I can soar like a bird.

Maybe the waves are rolling too high and making me sway in the sea, or maybe the birds are flying too high so that I can't see the ethereal sky.

I have followed the footsteps of my ideals, and I also want to leave traces in Sanya.

Immerse yourself in the curtain of darkness and listen to the frogs and warblers by the river.

The heart longs for the old dream of the old garden, and has also sown flowers in the poetry garden;

I don't know that the poignant autumn wind will also make the fallen leaves spin the sky.

Wandering by the river again, it has no lovers' heartache;

The wind blows my clothes, and I don't want to wander in my dreams.

Tonight, I am standing under the stars again, to create beautiful legends;

Maybe tomorrow you will forget me;

But I already have a trust in Sanya.

Quietly I left my hometown, and the falling flowers will not go with me;

the land that once sleepwalked;

I only left memories in my heart. ——

Believe in the future.

--Index finger. When the cobwebs mercilessly sealed my hearth, when the smoke of the ashes sighed the sorrow of poverty, I still stubbornly spread the ashes of disappointment, and wrote with beautiful snowflakes: believe in the future.

When my purple grapes turn into late autumn dew, when my flowers nestle in the feelings of others, I still stubbornly use the frosty dead vines.

Write on the bleak earth: Believe in the future.

I want to use my fingers to wave the waves that rush to the sky, I want to use my hands to support the sea that holds the sun, and I want to sway the warm and beautiful pen of the dawn.

Write in a child's pen: Believe in the future.

The reason why I firmly believe in the future is that I believe in the eyes of the people of the future

She has eyelashes that sweep away the dust of history, and she has the pupils to see through the chapters of the years.

It doesn't matter whether people have tears of emotion, deep sympathy, contemptuous smiles, and spicy ridicule for our rotten flesh, those melancholy of being lost, and the pain of failure.

I firmly believe that people will give a passionate, objective and fair evaluation of our backbone, the countless explorations, mistakes, failures and successes.

Yes, I anxiously await their assessment.

Friends, firmly believe in the future, believe in indomitable efforts, believe in the youth who defeated death, believe in the future, and love life.

If life deceived you Pushkin.

If life deceives you, don't be sad, don't be anxious! Melancholy days require composure. Believe it, happy days will come.

The heart is always yearning for the future; Now it is often melancholy: everything is instantaneous, everything will pass; And what has passed will become a kind nostalgia.

As long as spring is still there.

I won't be sad Even if the night swallows everything The sun can come back As long as life is still there I won't be sad Even if I am stuck in the vast desert There is still an oasis of hope As long as tomorrow is still there I won't be sad The winter snow will melt quietly Spring thunder will surely roll in.

A flowering tree (Xi Murong).

How do I let you meet me In my most beautiful moment For this I have been in front of the Buddha for five hundred years Ask the Buddha to let us tie up a relationship The Buddha turned me into a tree Growing beside the road you must pass Flowers bloom carefully in the sun Flowers are the hopes of my past life When you approach Please listen carefully The trembling leaves are the enthusiasm I am waiting for And when you finally walk by in defiance Fallen behind you Friend, that's not petals, that's my withered heart.

Out of winter and looking forward to spring.

I'm walking in the spring of this year.

The heart was forgotten in the winter of last year.

The apricot blossoms are beginning to fall.

I miss the oil-paper umbrella that I held up for you.

The catkins are breezy in the face.

An unforgettable confetti kite that was released by mistake.

At the beginning, we enjoyed the peach blossoms.

Now the solitary sigh is scattered.

Why the chant in the sound of the silver flute?

I always touched you, but I was saddened by me.

Since you are cruel to your departure.

Don't wait for your return.

Ancient bells.

I can know the dream that woke me up.

Hurry the Ganjiang River.

Can you remember the figure of me wandering alone.

A heart is frozen by the winter cold.

A piece of sorrow sprouts in the spring warmth.

You're gone, it's freezing and all your thoughts are gone.

I look forward to the red flowers and green grass full of spring.

Motherland, I am proud of you.

When the majestic Huabiao puts the upright body in the dawn, when the majestic Tiananmen Square ushers in the rising sun.

In the ears of history, there is the rumbling echo of the salute, the echo of the mountains and seas, which is the echo of the vicissitudes of China.

A giant overlooks the world, a loud voice, the whole world hears, the People's Republic of China was founded!

When the first five-star red flag was raised, the banner of victory fluttered in the wind in the bright sky, the people raised their heads, the whole world saw it, and the Chinese people stood up from then on!

This history condenses grandeur, paints the October sun to the fullest, and this momentum is impassioned, building a monument to stand in the east of the world.

In the glorious era, with vigorous hands, a brilliant chapter of New China was written, and the people proudly pointed out the country.

The suffering mother wiped away the tears in her eyes, revealing the joy in her heart and rejoicing from the bottom of her heart, and the motherland heroically moved towards prosperity and strength.

Acura celebrates our history, there is the myth of Pangu opening the world, bursting out with the light of life.

Acura celebrates our history, and the glory of the four great inventions is sown on this barren land.

Acura praises our history, there is the sage of Lao Tzu and Confucius, and the holy flame of thousands of years of civilization illuminates us.

My motherland, the motherland I love so much.

You are the rooster that roars high--- awakens the silence of dawn, you are the dragon soaring into the sky--- the storm of the times, you are the majestic lion --- dancing the majestic wind of China, you are the origin of human wisdom --- ignite the spark of civilization.

You have a sacred name, and that is China!

That's China, my motherland.

My beloved motherland.

I love my motherland deeply, my beating heart beats the pulse of five thousand years, I love my motherland deeply, the surging blood rushes the waves of the Yangtze River and the Yellow River, I love my motherland deeply, the yellow ** is printed with the color left by my ancestors, and I deeply love the ,...... of my motherland

The Internationale and Dongfang Hong, interspersed with singing:

There has never been a savior....”

He is the great savior of the people".