Nostalgia When I was ignorant, nostalgia was a warm sweater, the wearer was here, the knitter was there, after school, nostalgia was a shallow stream, I stood at the end of it, my mother was at the source, when I was growing up, nostalgia was a long, distant flute, he was playing it there, and I was listening to it here, but now, nostalgia is the round, bright moon, the watcher is here, and the watcher is there, and the person who is looking at it is in agony. when I am desperate, pain is a long journey, so long, so exhausting, when I am lonely, pain is a dance. so long and so tiring lonely pain is a person's ball began to be their own end is also their own difficult pain is an infinite extension of the space I want to leave but can not find the exit doubt pain is constantly dividing the cells to solve this and that and then began to grow happiness hours happiness is a small candy in the mouth but sweet in the heart after graduation happiness is a thick classmate book people in all directions but the true feelings of a thick gathering later on! Ah happiness is a harmonious and beautiful family photo time passes but the smile is cast forever and now happiness is a warm letter home far away from the sky but warm in front of me.
2. write nostalgia essayOutside the window is a steady drizzle; tonight the wind is again knocking on my window pane, homesickness is like a grain of soaked seed, swelling up for no reason. The dream that has been drifting for many days is blurring up the curved path in the village.
That is who, in the moonlit night with the flute playing the song of homesickness, melancholy tune inadvertently stuffed with the wilderness of my heart; who is in the night and night to release read the ancient poem of homesickness, melancholy oblique drops moving sprawling quiet nostalgia. At one time I thought I was used to living from eight to five in this strange city, and in the days of disillusionment like running water, the hills and mountains of my hometown had drifted farther and farther away. Suddenly looked back, only to find that dust in the heart of the fragrance, only to understand that they are a kite flying, no matter where they are located, where the rope of the heart will always be bolted to the sycamore tree in front of the hometown.
A clear rain dampened all my memories, nostalgia is like a garden full of leeks; long cut; cut and long. Everything in my hometown is flashing in my memory. In my lonely mind thoughts like fish swimming. Once wallowed in life's disillusionment, but the mountains and the water, the pure and simple home, the hometown of the constant gesture, in the poem evolved and faded into a wordless song, an unrhymed poem, and my soul has long been wandering away from out, through the thousands of mountains and waters, returned to the hometown, is with the simple folks and tasted the pure and simple rice wine.
When the air can no longer see the flock of geese flying south, when the leaves on the sycamore tree yellow and green, my unchanging nostalgia but also so leisurely and swinging play, such as the hometown of the distant flute, strands of endless; as Li Houzhu's "hate is just like the grass, more line farther still born".
3. Poems about nostalgia
Yellow Crane Tower
Cui Hao
Previous generations have taken the yellow crane to go, and the yellow crane tower remains here.
The yellow crane never returns, and the white cloud is empty for thousands of years.
The sunny river is full of Hanyang trees, and the grass is full of Parrot Island.
Where is the countryside at dusk, and where is the river?
Silent Night Thoughts
Li Bai
The light of the moon in front of the bed is suspected to be frost on the ground.
The moonlight in front of the bed is the light of the moon, which is suspected to be the frost on the ground.
Under the Mountain of Sub-Beigu
Wang Wan
Beyond the green mountains, the boat in front of the green water.
The tide is flat and the shore is wide.
The sea sun is born in the night, the river spring into the old year.
Where can I find the letter of homecoming, the geese return to the edge of Luoyang.
Mooring in Guazhou
Wang Anshi
Jingkou, Guazhou, between the waters, Zhongshan is only a few mountains away.
The spring breeze is green again on the south bank of the river, when will the bright moon shine on me.
Crossing the Han River
Song Zhiqian
The sound of the book outside the ridge is broken, through the winter, summer and spring.
I am afraid to ask for help.
Remembering my brother in the moonlit night
Du Fu
The garrison drums have broken the line of travel, and there is a sound of geese on the border in autumn.
The dew is white tonight, and the moon is bright in the hometown.
All my brothers are scattered, and I have no home to ask about my life and death.
The letter I sent to you did not reach me, and I have not yet rested my army.
4. Nostalgia in Ancient Poetry 1000 EssayLight nostalgia under the lamp quietly looking at the book, suddenly seemed to hear who called me by my nickname, and vaguely my big yellow dog's "woof woof" sound mixed in.
alone up to the balcony, pushed open the window to see, "Huh", no one which, but the sound is clearly still continuing, I listened carefully, the original sound from my heart. I know, I miss home .......... I've always been a smiling life, any sadness can easily bypass or dissolve away the only thing I can't dissolve on the homesickness sentiment.
Nostalgia comes when even the dream is the shadow of home, and what I do is to the flowers tears or with words to vent and soothe their hearts.
My hometown, my home, my hometown relatives ...... I am your hang-ups, and you are more my soul hang-ups ah. My hometown is a good place of mountains and water, from childhood to a lot of people say that I exuded a kind of aura, I smiled and said: "It is the good mountains and water of my hometown that nurtured me."
Really, hometown of the mountains is really beautiful, as a child we love to play in the mountains. At this time, the mountains of his hometown must have been green it; colorful wildflowers must be starry red face Yan Yan smile; East Mountain must be unable to see the edge of the golden golden rapeseed flowers it, countless butterflies and bees fluttering in which it must be very beautiful it; West Mountain on the mountains of peach trees must be a piece of pink it is not a lot of people in it shuttle it; Oh, the rows of the ubiquitous ginkgo leaves do not know open or not, the leaves are quick! I don't know if the rows of leaves of the ubiquitous ginkgo tree have opened, the leaves can make tea soon; under the small suspension bridge is not still the same as the last time I went back to the same blue water gurgling in the countless small goldfish in the jumping to me to probe it.
Writing about nostalgia, nostalgia is more and more intense, tears began to drip on the text, the last time I went home scene as clear as yesterday. Tears, I saw me, my lover, the child stood in front of my home that red door, my big yellow dog wagging his tail at me, heard my father say: "rhubarb this dog is really understanding, a few years do not see Nizi even still recognize"; I saw my mother panicked fire ready to give me my favorite water fried buns, the taste is again smart chef absolutely can not be done; I saw my little niece Qing'er joyfully called aunt ran to me; I saw the pomegranate tree in the yard sprouted, and then wait must be full of red flowers, I remember when I was a child and my sister favorite pomegranate flowers folded down to wear on the head of the stink of beauty, and pomegranate ripe time ah my home on the wall is always stretching out a few neighboring children's little head, mom will always pick a few handing it over with a smile, and they have that gluttony! The kind of really funny dead; I see my walnut tree spike so long, spike fall must be a grain of rice big small walnuts, as a child, our sisters a few can not wait until the walnuts are ripe and then eat, and when the walnuts are really ripe has been eaten by us almost, oh, in fact, we are also enough to eat; and, the yard that the big jujube tree is also open small yellow flowers, jujube flowers are not big, but the fragrance of the ah! ...... Well, the most beautiful thing in my yard is the spring.
Light steps, walked up to my home that beautiful three-story small house, standing on the roof I began to look around. I saw Wang Amma in the laundry, her little granddaughter in the side to play with water; I saw Du Grandpa in his yard flowers watering, next to his family's big black dog in a funny turn; I saw Li Grandpa wearing old glasses in his yard to read the newspaper, next to a cup of tea still floating smoke; I saw the home of the big green stone side of the father and the neighbor's grandpa and grandma in the game of poker, the love of his life in the side to stand and look at the child in the side to play, however, these elderly never play winners, they never play, but they never played the game. These old people never play to win money, they are winning corn seeds, dad in front of the corn seeds but a lot of it, see dad happy look needless to say that he will win again; ah! The girl from Grandma Liu's family came, carrying a lot of bananas in her pocket, Grandma Liu happily walked into the house with her daughter, Grandma Liu is not easy ah, Grandpa Liu left early, Grandma was widowed and raised five daughters, Grandma did not shed a lot of tears in her younger days, and now the five daughters are filial piety, Grandma can be regarded as enjoying the blessings of the ...... doodle, a few sound The first thing you need to do is to get your hands on a motorcycle, and then you'll be able to see the motorcycle, and then you'll be able to see the motorcycle, and then you'll be able to see the motorcycle, and then you'll be able to see the motorcycle, and then you'll be able to see the motorcycle, and then you'll be able to see the motorcycle.
Sister-in-law said with a smile, "I called my sister and sister, and they are expected to come together". Get up and love to hurry and go out again, a very delicate van parked in front of the door, these years the sister their days are better, this is not all bought a car.
You see adults have not yet gotten off, naughty nephew pulled his sister-in-law's sister jumped out of the car, sister and brother-in-law, sister and brother-in-law are smiling and said: "this time back to stay a few days ah", I and my lover should smile. The father rushed to stop the hands of the card game came home, the son pulled the grandma's hand over to sit down, that day is really a rare reunion ah.
Eating mom's fried buns, asking about each other, and then chattering together. The first time I saw this was when I was a kid, and it was the first time I'd ever seen a kid in the world.
Mom pointed to a bunch of children in the side of magpie-like screaming also seven on eight jumped to us, said: "see, you guys when you were little like that", we a few laughed, and then the whole yard are laughing over. ...... In the blink of an eye, and a long time not to go home, everyone is usually contacted by phone, Dad said, "Work when you have to worry, do not be sloppy."
Mom said: "What's good at home, you own outside to eat well ah." The first thing you need to do is to get your hands dirty and get out of the way. Sister-in-law said: "Mom and Dad have us, but you have time to come back to see everyone to talk to ah."
My sister said with a smile on the phone, "Little sister, find a good mother-in-law, a good son-in-law to forget about home"; my sister asked on the phone, "Sister, when will you come back again?" The old classmates always said with a smile on the phone: "Listen to the voice ah know you moisturize, say it, still want us these sisters?" ...... At this time, thinking about these things and these words heart feel incomparably warm, oh, nostalgia tears how this sweet, I feel my heart smiled. The first thing I want to do is to get a good deal of money from the government, and I want to make sure that the government has the money to pay for the work.
In that remote.
5. to the topic of nostalgia imitation writing a poem
Under the full moon Yu Guangzhong full of moonlight, no one to clean up, then fold a broader lotus leaves, wrapped a piece of moonlight back, back to clip in the Tang poetry. It is flat, like a pressed love ...... moonlight with the fragrance of lotus leaves. Nostalgia Yu Guangzhong When I was a child, nostalgia was a small postage stamp, with me here and my mother there. When I grew up, nostalgia was a narrow boat ticket, with me here and my bride there. Later, nostalgia was a short tomb, with me outside and my mother inside. Now, nostalgia is a shallow strait, with me here and my motherland there. Nostalgia Ximurong Hometown's song is a distant flute, which is always played at night when there is a moon. The face of my hometown is a blur of disappointment, as if I were waving goodbye in the fog. After parting, nostalgia is a tree with no annual rings that never grows old. The season of fragrant rice The heavy dreams hanging in the vast fields The fragrant winds blow open the hearts of the farmers who are intoxicated Dreams are not lingering In the festive atmosphere The colorful golden waves swing in the arms of the water towns People are sucking on a thousand cups of fine wine Just at this ---- time when the fragrance of the fertile land is wafting over a thousand miles. Lookout Terrace Ascending to the Lookout Terrace, with the mountains at my feet, I look at the clouds in the sky, and the wind sends me the sounds of my hometown. There are no forests and waves around me, but there is only one road that leads straight to the Lookout Terrace, seeing the mountains and the water of my hometown, seeing the willows and the acacias of my hometown, and the pine in front of my house, which still looks like my grandma's. Thousands of miles away from my hometown, it's already been a few years in the twinkling of an eye, and my feelings of longing for my hometown will not subside, for every year I always come to the Lookout Terrace. My hometown is an old wine brewed by a wanderer with grains, and the farther and longer it is left, the mellower the flavor of the wine will be. When I think of my hometown, I quietly miss it. Hometown, is a colorful and delicious and good food, tempting faraway travelers have to taste. When I think of my hometown, I silently think of my hometown. Hometown, is a traveler's childhood memories in pieces, the more the traveler can not sort out the clues, more and more unable to cut out the complete picture. When I think of my hometown, I think of my hometown in my heart. For the hometown of thoughts, the farther the age, the deeper the experience of the hometown, the soul's touch is also big. What kind of way does a traveler miss his hometown? Missing the hometown, in fact, is to miss the hometown of childhood partners, miss that old house, miss that piece of land. However, the traveler misses the old parents the most. The hometown, miss the hometown, miss the hometown does not need a reason. Whenever you face the moon in the sky, you miss your hometown like a tidal wave, like a flood coming in general unmanageable. Hometown, miss hometown, do not need any excuse. The traveler is always thinking of his hometown. 2 Mid-Autumn Moon Bright Night Thousands of miles to send the love of a round of bright moon hanging high, stirring up the heart infinite flaws in the mind of a wanderer looking at the posture of piety, like a pilgrim's model, looking into the distance, the same full moon over the North, praying for a piece of the glow of the light of the hometown can be a piece of my passion, full of wet tears back to the clear light to wash the face of the ears, the sound of the call of a sudden rise of the laurel, according to the mother's face of the old days in the fragrance of the flowers fell in the sun of my father standing in a thin figure, the autumn rain showering as well. Tenderness rises up, the drifting duckweed holds the thread of longing, the sky is as big as it is, it will fly out as far as it can, the wandering footprints extend the bloodline of kinship, the earth is as wide as it is, it will penetrate as deep as it can, carrying this heavy debt, sighing shamefully to the moon, when will I be able to do my duty at my knees, a slender cut of the reflection, shaking a piece of the moonlight, a flying eagle swept over the snowy plains of my hometown, once a dream of a thousand times of longing, looking back to see if the fruits of my first love are still hanging in the laurel tree of my memory, emitting a fragrance, in the bright night of the moon, the autumn breeze, the wind, the wind, the wind, the breeze, and the wind. On this bright moonlit night, the mournful autumn winds have cooled the wandering heart, and the drizzle that falls during the moonlight of the Mid-Autumn Festival, and the rising tide that rises in the chest, breaks through the riverbank of longing, and floods the heart. 3. The thoughts of a wanderer, of the mountains of his hometown, which are so green, of the waters of his hometown, which are so green, of the clouds of his hometown, which are so light, of the people of his hometown, which are so dear to him, of a wanderer, day after day. Day after day, I hope we will be with the green mountains and green water for a long time, and that we will be reunited someday. Nostalgia Ximurong The song of my hometown is a distant flute, which is always played on the nights when there is a moon. The face of my hometown is a blur of disappointment, as if I were waving goodbye in the fog. After parting, nostalgia is a tree with no annual rings, which will never grow old. Homesickness By: easy to read when the dawn bells ringing woke up the sleeping dream may be the dream of homesickness spring winds and autumn whisking away yesterday's parting melody of the rhyme of the beauty of the heart like the heart can not give up is the hometown of the wind and rain into a small drop of water to follow the footsteps of the wind and rooted in the love of the entanglement in the whisking of the willow branches and leaves holes called hometown, are you okay? The stars and the moon are shuttling between my heart, and I am always homesick for my hometown! My hometown! The place where I was born and raised, surrounded by peach trees and beautiful villages. No matter where I stand guard, I always yearn for you. In the place where the peach blossoms bloom, there is my charming hometown, where the peach garden is filled with children's laughter and the peach blossoms reflect the girl's face. Ah! Hometown! A place I'll never forget, I'd like to be stationed at the border of snow and wind in order to make your scenery even more beautiful. Ah! Hometown! The unforgettable place, in order to make your scenery even better, I would like to be stationed at the frontier of the wind and snow .
6. Homesickness in ancient poemsWeishan Pavilion fugue rhyme wrote: "The heart chased the southern clouds passed away, the shape with the northern geese.
The chrysanthemums under the hedge in the hometown, how many flowers bloom today?" This poem is characterized by "big in the integration of small" and "small to see big". The author first unfolded a magnificent clear sky in autumn: but see the southern sky a white cloud can not withstand with a hint of coolness of the north wind flirtation, quietly north; and a group of northern geese to avoid the cold autumn and fluttering to the south.
The author is reminded of his own hometown, which is far away. His hometown in the far north, but to avoid the war, living in the south, as the south of the geese; but the feeling of homesickness is more and more certain, as the north of the cloud, can be said to be "in the south of the heart in the north" carry on.
A "by" word, explaining the homesickness, want to fly away by the southern clouds, is a strong subjective desire, and the next sentence "with" the word contrast: "with" has a passive helplessness The author writes about the autumn scenery, the southern part of the country, the southern part of the country, and the southern part of the country. The author writes about the autumn scenery, the southern clouds fly away, the northern geese fly south, all suggesting that the north wind has risen, is "not written to write", more write not all bleak.
Then, a turn of the pen, from big to small, write the chrysanthemum under the hedge in his hometown, implicitly implying that "picking chrysanthemums under the East Fence, leisurely to see the South Mountain" meaning, written out of the hometown of the leisurely life of the fondness. There is a custom of "Chrysanthemums in the sun", but now the poet can only be sent to the end of the world, the two relative to each other, it is not bleak.
"How many flowers are blooming today?" A question will be played to the extreme, the imagery will be condensed to a very small, focusing on the flowers, it is in the very small see great. A question full of endless thoughts, so that the poem ends abruptly, but the rhyme is endless.
Reading the ancient poem of homesickness, I can't help but think of my family and friends in my hometown, and recall the happy idyllic life spent in my hometown.
7. Ancient and Modern Poems about Homesickness1 Homesickness Homesickness I am sad that the ice melts in the warm embrace of the sun, and the grasses are full of greenery at the end of the world, when the cold winds of the east woke up the poet's wine of sadness, and the setting sun fell slowly with the flying flowers, and the wind was blowing in the east, and the sun set slowly, and the flowers fell slowly, and the winds of the east blew the poet's wine of sadness. When the infinite rain weaves a fine and dense net, covering the empty heart of a wanderer, melancholy, melancholy, I lean on the broken door of an inn, gazing at my homeland, the village of smoke and rain, the dream home, the village of the cat, snoring, huddled next to his mother's needle and thread, when the cuckoo bird calls out, "Why don't you come back, why don't you come back? My forehead, the waves of my hometown, the red and green dresses of the village maidens, all familiar and unfamiliar to me, I haven't looked at them for a long time, but the mirage of the distant past has brought me back to my youth once again, and the old locust tree at the entrance of the village is still the same, where my grandma used to stand underneath, waiting for me to come back, waiting for me to come back in the rain and the wind, and now, I'm eagerly searching for the eyes that seem to be tingling at me at every moment, and the figure of that old man who is hanging down, until tears of memories are overflowing into my heart, and the blue mountains are filled with the sweet cuckoo that is flying towards the clouds, and sweeping up into the edge of the sky. The green hills, with their lovely pugu, swept away to the clouds and into the dome of the sky, and the warm grass at my feet, so green and green, swaying and dancing in the wind, this is the hometown that I have longed for day and night, and which is at the very tip of my dreaming heart, and how can I ever forget it? How can I forget it? How can I forget it? The deep nostalgia that has settled in my heart is the piccolo that beckons the soul Yu Guangzhong The soul comes back to the East, mother, the East cannot stay long, the tropical sea that gives birth to typhoons, and the air pressure in the North Pacific Ocean in July is very low.
Souls return, mother, the south cannot stay long, the one-way street of the sun train, the equatorial moxibustion in July, the hearts of pedestrians' feet. Soul to soul, O mother, the north cannot stay long, The white kingdom of the reindeer, There is no night of rest in July, only day.
The soul returns, O mother, to a foreign land. The little urn is dreaming by the floor-to-ceiling window, with the little plants you planted with your hands.
Come back, mother, and guard your little town after the fire.
This is the first time I've ever seen a woman in the world, and I've never seen a woman in the world who can't see her.
Buried in a small town in the south of the Yangtze River.
And on the way to Ching Ming, O mother, my footprints will be deep, The willow's long hair dripping with rain, O mother, dripping with my memories, The soul will return, O mother, to guard this empty city in the four directions. When I die, when I die, bury me, between the Yangtze River and the Yellow River, with my head on the pillow, and my white hair over the black soil.
In China, the most beautiful and the most motherly country, I will sleep openly, sleep on the whole continent, listen to both sides, the requiem from the Yangtze River and the Yellow River, the two pipes of eternal music, heaving, toward the east. This is the most indulgent and broadest bed, let a heart satisfied to sleep, satisfied to think, once upon a time, a young man in China once, in the frozen Michigan looking west, want to look through the night to see the dawn of China, with seventeen years not eat China's eyes Taotie map, from the West Lake to the Taihu Lake, to Chongqing, more partridge, instead of returning to his hometown.
5 hours Hou Nostalgia is a small stamp I'm here at the end of the mother at that end Growing up Nostalgia is a narrow boat ticket I'm here at the end of the bride at that end Later, ah Nostalgia is a side of a short grave I'm on the outside of the mother in the inside of the Now, Nostalgia is a shallow bay strait I'm here at the end of the continent at the end of the Yu Guangzhong give me a dipper of Yangtze River water ah Changjiang River water Wine like the Yangtze River water Drunkenness taste of nostalgia taste Give me a dipper of Changjiang River water ah Changjiang water Give me a dipper of Yangtze River water, Yangtze River water. Give me a Begonia Red, Begonia Red. Blood-like Begonia Red. The burning pain of boiling blood is the burning pain of nostalgia. Give me a Begonia Red, Begonia Red. Give me a Snow White, Snow White. Letter-like Snow White. Waiting for a letter from home is the waiting of nostalgia. Give me a Snow White, Snow White. Give me a Lap-mei, Lap-mei, Lap-mei, Lap-mei, Lap-mei, Lap-mei, Lap-mei, Lap-mei, Lap-mei, Lap-mei, Lap-mei, Lap-mei, Lap-mei, Lap-mei, Lap-mei, Lap-mei. Fragrance 7 That Cricket Liu Shahe The Taiwanese poet Mr. Y said: "When you hear a cricket chirping at night overseas, you will think it is the one you heard in the Sichuan countryside. It is that cricket whose steel wings beat against the golden wind and jumped across the strait, which landed quietly over Taipei and sang in your yard night after night. It is that cricket that sang in "The Winds of July", in "The Winds of the Tang Dynasty - Cricket", in "Nineteen Ancient Poetry Songs", next to the weaving loom of Hua Mulan, and in Jiang Kui's lyrics, which was heard by the laborers and by the women of thoughts. It is that cricket that sang by the stagecoach paths deep in the mountains, on the beacons of the Great Wall. It's the cricket that sang on the post road, on the beacon of the Great Wall, on the patio of the inn, on the weeds of the battlefield, for the lonely guest, for the wounded soldier, it's the cricket that sings in your memory, in my memory, of the surprises of childhood, of the loneliness of middle age, of the bamboo cages, of the lanterns, of the mooncakes, of the osmanthus blossoms, of the pomegranate fruit full of pearls, of the yellow leaves of the hometown, of the wild geese, of the haystacks, of my mother's call for us to go back to add more clothes, of the many, many things that the years have secretly left behind. Many, many, many years have gone by, and it's the cricket that sings across the Taiwan Strait, in the alleys of Taipei, in the villages of Szechuan, and everywhere the Chinese go, singing more monotonously than the most monotonous music, more harmoniously than the most harmonious sound, condensing into water, dewdrops, light, flames, turning into a bird, a partridge, crowing in the hearts of those who know us in the countryside, it's the cricket that sings outside your window, and outside my window. You're listening, you're missing, I'm listening, I'm chanting, You should guess what I'm chanting, I'll guess what you're thinking, The Chinese have a Chinese mind, The Chinese have a Chinese ear.
8. Parody of NostalgiaNostalgia
When I was ignorant
Nostalgia is a warm sweater
The person who wears it is at this end
The person who weaves it is at that end
When I went to school
Nostalgia is a shallow creek
I am at the end of the stream
My mother is at the headwaters
I am at the end of the stream. Growing up
Nostalgia is a distant flute music
He is playing at the other end
I am listening at the other end
And now
Nostalgia is a round moon
Those who are looking at it are at this end
Those who are watching it are at the other end
Suffering
Desperation
Suffering is a long
Such a long journey
So long
So tiring
When I'm alone
Pain is a solo dance
It starts with me
It ends with me
When I'm in trouble
Pain is an infinite space
I want to go away
But I can't find a way out
When I'm confused
When I'm in doubt
I want to go away
But I can't find a way out
When in doubt
Pain is a cell that keeps on dividing
After solving this
that starts to grow again
Happiness
When I was a child
Happiness is a small candy
In the mouth
but it is sweet in my heart
After I graduated
Happiness is a thick book of classmates
Happiness is a small candy that is sweet in my heart.
After graduation
Happiness is a thick book of classmates
People are all over the world
But true love is gathered in one place
Later on
Happiness is a beautiful family photo
Time passes
But smiles last forever
When I was young, friendship was a small see-saw, with me at one end and my partner at the other
When I grew up, friendship was a long telephone line
It's not just a small, but also an important part of our lives.
The best thing about the world is that it's not just about the world. Worries on the outside
A little older
Childhood is a curved rainbow bridge
Young in the back
Knowledgeable in the front
Adulthood
Childhood is a sweet dream
Simplicity is in the heart
Burden on the shoulders
Old age
Childhood is a Small photo
Childhood is at that end
Life is at this end
When I was a child,
Nostalgia is a strong longing,
I miss my hometown,
I miss everything about my hometown.
After growing up, nostalgia is a white letter paper,
There is nothing on the paper,
only my nostalgia for my hometown.
Later,
Nostalgia is a thick book,
The book left my memories,
Memories are the past of childhood.
And now, nostalgia is the memory of my childhood,
I don't need it anymore,
because, I grew up.