Literary works about homesickness

Yu Guangzhong's homesickness; Spring wine selected from Qi Jun's prose; "The osmanthus rain in my hometown" Qi Jun; "Cutting Homesickness" Qiong Yao; "Jujube Stone" Xiao Gan; "Homesickness" Xi Murong; "Country wine", Lan Shu and so on. ...

Homesickness composition 400 words I have a bright line at the foot of my bed, and I suspect that the ground is frosty. Looking up, I found it was moonlight, sinking again, and I suddenly remembered home. -(Li Bai) > This poem is the one I am most familiar with. It's about sitting on a well bed and watching the moonlight sprinkled on the ground by the bright moon in the sky, just like layers of frost.

Looking up at the bright moon in the sky, I can't help but bow my head and meditate, missing my hometown more and more.

This poem is a famous sentence that has been told through the ages.

Plain and simple language vividly expresses the homesickness of the wanderer. There are only 20 words in the whole poem. From the description of time, environment, atmosphere and subtle movements of characters, it shows the wanderer's deep yearning for his hometown.

The language is clear, the rhyme is smooth and natural, which seems easy and effortless, but in fact it is exquisite and intriguing.

Reading this poem again reminds me of my old grandmother and the happy rural life I spent in her house. Simple mountain villages, clear rivers and kind people ... every time I go to her house, I will feel the charm of nature. People here are not curious, just pure and kind. Sometimes when you pass by the stream, you will hear children recite Tang poetry and Song poetry, which makes people have an impulse not to leave. ......

After reading "Come to Taipei to Watch Winter Rain", I have many ideas.

Yes, everyone has a homesick lover.

The rain in winter is not rain, but tears, tears of people who are in a foreign land and miss their hometown.

The older people get, the more they want to go home. Tears of homesickness turned into rain and fell on people's cheeks, hands, bodies and hearts ... At this moment, I remembered Mr. Ji Xianlin again.

I seem to see Mr. Ji Xianlin on a foreign window, watching the dusk alone; It's like seeing Mr. Ji Xianlin, sitting alone on the sofa thinking about the past of China ... eleven years! These eleven years, Mr. Ji Xianlin spent in nostalgia! "My China Heart" sings the voice of every overseas traveler, and "I miss my Shandong brothers on vacation in the mountains" writes about the homesickness of people from other places ... no matter where they are, they are not as warm as "hometown"; No matter who, there is no "home" amiable; No matter what kind of drama, there is no original flavor of "hometown" ... Mr. Qian Xuesen suffered white torture under the torture of Americans, but miraculously returned to the arms of China with firm belief! Mr. Qian Xuesen said loudly: "Motherland! I am back! " At that time, I had mixed feelings in my heart, and tears of excitement flowed out of my eyes.

Yes! Homesickness and nostalgia are human instinct.

People can abandon everything, but they will never forget "home!" ...

After reading "Come to Taipei to Watch Winter Rain", I have many ideas.

Yes, everyone has a homesick lover.

The rain in winter is not rain, but tears, tears of people who are in a foreign land and miss their hometown.

The older people get, the more they want to go home. Tears of homesickness turned into rain and fell on people's cheeks, hands, bodies and hearts ... At this moment, I remembered Mr. Ji Xianlin again.

I seem to see Mr. Ji Xianlin on a foreign window, watching the dusk alone; It's like seeing Mr. Ji Xianlin, sitting alone on the sofa thinking about the past of China ... eleven years! These eleven years, Mr. Ji Xianlin spent in nostalgia! "My China Heart" sings the voice of every overseas traveler, and "I miss my Shandong brothers on vacation in the mountains" writes about the homesickness of people from other places ... no matter where they are, they are not as warm as "hometown"; No matter who, there is no "home" amiable; No matter what kind of drama, there is no original flavor of "hometown" ... Mr. Qian Xuesen suffered white torture under the torture of Americans, but miraculously returned to the arms of China with firm belief! Mr. Qian Xuesen said loudly: "Motherland! I am back! " At that time, I had mixed feelings in my heart, and tears of excitement flowed out of my eyes.

Yes! Homesickness and nostalgia are human instinct.

People can abandon everything, but they will never forget "home!"

Write a 400-word homesick composition in the fifth grade. I had a dream last night.

There is no lie, no deception, no made-up story, no fiction, but a real dream. The protagonist in the dream is me and a forum. Forum is a family, and I am a member of this family.

Do you know this family? ! Do you still know you are a member of this family? ! Who is talking about me? ! No one will say that I am blaming myself.

Yes! It's remorse and shame, more or less guilty, because it's irresponsible, because it's been away from home for too long.

That's it. That's how I blame myself in my dream. I have been blaming myself. It's as simple as that, with little content and no complexity, just like my life, simple.

Dreams are the same, simple, like life, like me, that's enough.

awake from a dream

My thoughts are still in the plot of the dream, thinking, thinking about the dream, thinking about the contents of the dream, like a movie film playback, and then freeze a certain picture, and then keep thinking, thinking, thinking, just like an old man sitting in a rocking chair in his twilight years recalling his first love.

Everyone who has experienced feelings has had their first love, and I have also had my first love. To be exact, my first love was a forum, the truest emotion in a virtual world-a dream, a sail.

Whether it is appropriate to regard a forum as my first love, I have no mind to verify its accuracy, because I know it is a dream, I know I am dreaming, I don't want to wake my dream, I don't want to complicate simple things, and if I want to verify something in my dream, I am really tired.

The dream said that she told me herself in the dream, stroking my head and saying, if you are tired, take a rest.

Really, I really feel very tired, really, I am really obedient to rest, sleepy, like a child, a very obedient and well-behaved child is sleeping quietly, and there is a feeling, a real feeling, that is, the feeling that a prodigal son who has been wandering for a long time has returned to his long-lost home, which is a practical feeling, feeling very warm, and then. Say whatever you want. In your own home, you are not an outsider, you are a member of this family, so I say, there is only one sentence, a simple sentence: it feels good to be home.

Close your eyes and sleep.

In the dreamland, at home, there is no noise, no disputes, only peace, and there is an indelible shadow, the shadow of the sail, which is the call of true feelings, and it is as simple as going home.

Go home.

No matter how good the outside world is, there is no warmth of home.

Warm.

Really, home is really warm.

It is snowing outside. This is a big, big snow. It is another winter. This is the second winter.

The next winter, it was snowing outside.

The stove at home has been lit, which is very beautiful. The family drank tea around the stove and said the most intimate words. This feeling is really good, because of family, because of warmth, because of a concern, caring for relatives who are still wandering outside.

Close your eyes and sleep.

Homesickness in my dream.

Because, it is another winter, a snowy winter, an unusual winter. This winter is the second anniversary of "You Meng Fan Ying" and also the second anniversary of ups and downs.

Anxious to return.

The family is looking forward to their reunion anniversary.

In my sleep, the call in my ear is so clear. Go home, my family is waiting for you.

With my eyes closed, I can clearly see and see the stirring sail, which is the sailing boat going home.

Tired, tired, wandering for a long time, set foot on the boat home.

The murmuring river carries the heart of a wanderer, anxious to return.

Tired, tired, sail home in a sailboat and sail to the quiet harbor of my hometown.

Nostalgia (original poem) Nostalgia-Sun rolled into the ranks of cattle on the mountainside. The shepherd is full of warm sunshine. Crickets are singing softly in the old house. Home, where is home behind the mountain? When the spring breeze rises again, the birds on the branches are singing carefree. Is a mature hometown! I stopped, my eyes glowed, and the spring water washed away the dust from my throat. The green bamboo is singing an old ballad, and the wild goose flies south and higher ... My daughter has more and more books, so I found the old bookcase and gave it to her.

The wife looked at it and smiled: "The family heirloom has been passed down from generation to generation."

My father got this box from my grandfather.

Now, for my daughter, there are at least four generations. Although the wooden box is an old wooden box, it is the only wooden box handed down by our ancestors.

The box is not big, but it is only 1 meter long, nearly 2 feet high and 1 many feet wide. Compared with the suitcase, it is small.

Open the wooden box, the internal structure is like the pencil box used by primary school students before.

The upper part is a movable inner box, which is divided into spaces with different sizes and shapes by three or two vertical and horizontal wooden boards. Common stationery such as pens, ink, paper, inkstones, rulers, gauges, triangular erasers and pencil sharpeners can be placed separately as required.

Take out the movable inner box, which is where the books are put.

Close the box, which happens to be the desk.

Each side of the wooden box is made of a whole Chongyang board, and the thickness is close to 1 cm. Without gaps, rain will never invade. If it contains water, I'm afraid it won't leak half a drop, and it can also be used as a basin.

The box is not painted, and the background color is dark red, which is the true color of wood, but as time goes by, it is not so bright.

Careful observation shows that the color of the texture on the chessboard is deep or shallow, and the shape is wide or narrow, which seems random, but in fact it is regular and rhythmic.

Smell it, and the fragrance still exists.

It is with this unique smell that moths dare not patronize.

Chongyang tree grows slowly and its material is delicate and hard.

It is for these reasons that the box is still intact.

Over the years, I have heard the name of "Chongyang Tree" countless times because of this wooden box, and I have deepened my memory of it on small square stools and chopping boards, but I have never seen the real Chongyang Tree.

Sometimes, I will ask the old people curiously. They are always used to squinting and smoking. Facing the south, they took pains to tell me about the origin and glory of Chongyang Tree.

Chongyang tree is not a local tree species. A long time ago, our people immigrated to this water town from Chongyang County. Grandparents came to the mud on the dock with Chongyang tree species, but only two trees survived at that time.

A woman and a man, a left and a right, watch each other in front of the door.

To my ancestors. ...

The 400-word homesickness composition by famous artists is sour and sweet, and the taste of homesickness lingers in my heart for a long time, beside me ... sour and salty tears are in my taste buds step by step.

With lacrimal glands, I don't want others to see the water drops flowing quietly.

Everything in my hometown is replayed in my mind over and over again.

Even the dead tree feels kind.

Once, in my dream, I walked around the green mountains and green waters several times. How many times have I imagined that I would write poems and draw pictures in this beautiful scenery and enjoy the scenery with celebrities from ancient times to modern times.

Now, there is no such thing as leisure.

Only the long-lost hometown wilderness.

That beautiful scenery is the most beautiful thing in the world in my eyes! But now, all I have is the acidity left by tears.

But maybe I should be happy.

I am no longer a silly child who doesn't understand emotions.

I understand what homesickness is, and I can sing the song of lovesickness with Du Li! So, happy, happy because I understand the meaning of acacia, happy because I can share the same spectrum with ancient and modern poets! Homesickness tastes sour.

The bitter and salty taste made me not want to recall and leave my hometown.

Just like a child who doesn't want to leave his mother, I don't want to taste this homesickness again! The taste of homesickness is happy.

The joy of being sensible still lingers in my heart, reminding me all the time.

The taste of homesickness is sour and happy.

Maybe it's contradictory to say this, but it's the only homesickness that belongs to me!

The composition about homesickness is a drizzle outside the homesick window; Tonight, the wind is knocking on my window lattice again, and my homesickness is like a soaked seed, expanding for no reason.

The dream of wandering for many days vaguely climbed the winding path in the village.

Who is it that plays homesick music on the flute in the moonlight night, and the sad tune inadvertently fills the wasteland in my heart; Who is reading the ancient poems of homesickness every night, and the degree of sadness drops the boundless and quiet homesickness.

I used to think that in this strange city, I was used to the life of eight to five. In the days of frustration, the mountains and rivers in my hometown have gradually drifted away.

Looking back suddenly, I found that fragrance was sealed in my heart and I realized that I was a flying kite. No matter where I am, the rope of my heart will always be tied to the buttonwood in front of my hometown.

A rain wet all my memories, homesickness is like a garden full of leeks; Long cut; Cut it long.

Everything in my hometown flashed in my memory.

In my lonely heart, my thoughts are like fish swimming around.

Once indulged in the frustration of life, however, the unchanging posture of that mountain and that simple family and hometown faded into a song without words and a poem with Kubinashi rhyme in poetry. My soul has already floated out and returned to my hometown through thousands of waters in Qian Shan. I am enjoying pure rice wine with simple folks.

When the geese flying south can no longer be seen in the air, when the leaves on the buttonwood are yellow and blue, my unchanging homesickness is playing leisurely, just like the flute in Qingyuan, my hometown. Also like Li Houzhu's "hate like grass, you will live farther and farther".

...

Homesickness 400-word composition primary school fifth grade urgent! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! At dusk, I miss my hometown, standing alone in the middle of the overpass in the city, watching the crowds coming and going and the endless stream of vehicles under the bridge, and a deep homesickness came to my mind, which was dragged on by the sunset in the west for a long time.

I used to hate my hometown so much because of its poverty, and I was so eager to leave my hometown because of its backwardness.

Now, I am in this bustling metropolis, counting the high-rise buildings all over the street, but all I care about is my hometown, where there are mountains, water, grass and trees.

Looking back on the mountains and rivers of my hometown carefully, I found that I never paid attention to everything in my hometown and turned a blind eye to the beauty, purity and truth of my hometown.

Fallen leaves will call for attachment to the wind and fall into the dust, and the soil will cherish its tears and breed new vitality in the mineral deposits.

Missing grows wildly in waiting, and the feelings of hometown spread in waiting.

There are waves of Jin Lang in front of us, which is the mature charm of wheat seedlings.

Bowing their heads and listening to the heavy breathing of wheat seedlings in the field, listening to the wind rustling in the crops, the villagers were full of comfort and tranquility.

When I was a child, I held hands with my sister to shoot birds by the wheat field, for fear that annoying sparrows would steal the fruits of my parents' labor.

The little sparrow saw me and ran away with a cry. I excitedly shook my sister's hand for the escaped sparrow, as if I had become a daughter who could help or be useful to my parents.

The childish face is full of victory and pride, which makes people laugh at the autumn wind that is about to blow and comforts the vibrant wheat seedlings standing in the field.

The river in my hometown quietly has the tranquility of her years, and the grove by the river looks at the opposite river steadily.

On the white and green banks, frogs and drums came from time to time. Dragonflies are dancing gently in the middle of the river, and when they walk down, they wake up the sleeping river.

Flocks of wild ducks are playing happily in the river.

When I was a child, I took off my shoes and walked into the river, waiting for the small fish to be delivered to my door.

The little fish seems to be playing games with me, obviously by the river, but when I reach out, it has escaped to the depths of the river.

I saw it sneaking out its round little head in the depths of the river, as if smiling proudly at me. I angrily picked up a lump of soil from the shore and threw it at the little fish, but except for a splash on the water, the little fish had already swam away.

I had to slouch back to the river bank, sigh and go home empty-handed.

I miss my hometown. When I stare at the misty rain outside the window and listen to the beautiful and moving music, my heart is brought back to you.

I have touched the soul of the earth, and I know that I am now on the loess high slope in the eastern half of the earth.

In the open space on the slope, I sat on the floor, and the wind blew past me, blowing away the dust on me and all my sadness and joy.

I began to meditate quietly, and an unusual idea came into my mind.

I didn't feel it carefully when I was in the same place. That's because my heart has long been blown away by the breeze, but in retrospect, my heart is calm.

I miss my hometown. If my heart is a pigeon flying in my hometown, then my warm nest must be you-my hometown.

Autumn is like water, spring is beautiful, the starry sky in winter night and the fiery summer are all my deep thoughts.

A tree, a piece of soil, a cloud, a fog, a gust of wind and a drop of rain in my hometown all appeared in front of my eyes.

After a winding path, I came to the Woods by the river. I picked up a yellow leaf that fell to the ground.

Looking at this fallen leaf, I hid it in the drawer of years, waiting for a new opportunity.

There is no trace of time in the high-rise buildings of the city, and it will go somewhere else sooner or later. The fallen leaves hidden in my hometown drawer, with traces of time slipping, have been hidden in my heart.

I haven't seen the scene of snowflakes flying for many years, and it won't snow in Shenzhen.

My hometown is white on snowy days.

White roofs, white branches, white mountains and white ground.

Standing in the white world, my heart is much purer.

When the wind blows, it blows the firewood in front of the door, and the twigs fluttering with the wind look thin in the cold wind.

Rhubarb dog, the doorman, is too lazy to leave the nest. He just tilted his head and listened to the outside with keen ears.

People in the village no longer do farm work, but just stay at home leisurely.

Crops in twos and threes, playing poker together.

The new wives get together and knit sweaters or embroidered insoles and mandarin duck pillowcases with wool in their hands.

The naughty boy put a bamboo basket in the field, waiting for the sparrow to go in and catch it.

The autumn wind is rustling and the leaves are falling. I walked slowly on the streets of the city, missing with the wind.

People in my hometown are very enthusiastic. Whenever I pass by the villagers' house, the villagers will always greet you warmly or pull you into the house to talk about your family.

Old people who have no young labor force at home, the young people in the village always help them take care of the crops in the field and fill them with water tanks.

The villagers help each other and take care of each other with pure enthusiasm, without any attempts or distractions, and only come to you with a warm energy.

The metropolis at night is shrouded in mystery by neon lights in the distance, and everywhere is full of warm breath.

Drunk young people walk by in twos and threes and don't forget to make fun of you.

The beautifully dressed girl shuttled through the bustling crowd, full of vitality.

Think of that night in my hometown.

Where the stars shine and gather, the whole blue sky is fresher and brighter.

Open the window, the moon hangs behind the willow tip, and the shadow of willow branches is reflected in the full moon.

The wind is blowing and people are walking in the moonlight. I tell her my heart quietly.

The moonlight is thick tonight, so make a wish quickly, and let the breeze and bright moon bring my thoughts of my hometown to the yellow land where I was born and raised.

Hometown 400 words Hometown, I have left her for four years. Whenever I hear someone proudly talking about his hometown, I feel homesick.

In the morning, as soon as the sun rises in the east, the farmers get up. They picked up hoes and went to weed the fields. My friends and I carried schoolbags through the birch forest, stepped into the campus and picked up books to read.

At noon, my friends and I went home for dinner. After eating, we hurried back to school ... Now, recalling that happy time, I envy it, but it will never come back. I have been studying in another city.

Every New Year, I especially want to go back to my hometown.

How many relatives are there in my hometown? How much laughter did I have in my childhood? If I have a wish, I will let time to go back, and I hope I can go to school with my schoolbag on my back like when I was a child.

The city is changing, and the small village full of birch trees is also changing quietly ... birch trees are decreasing day by day. Perhaps, one day I will go back to that small village, but I will never see the small village in my dream again. The birch forest on my way to school will be replaced by buildings. If I really return to my hometown one day, I don't want to see those buildings replaced by birch trees.

People in my hometown, please don't cut down trees indiscriminately, otherwise, you will be retaliated by nature. If there were no trees to protect this land, it would have become a desert.

I only hope that when I come back, I will see patches of birch forest. ...

Homesickness is a kind of homesickness, and homesickness is a kind of tenderness, just like the smoke from the kitchen on the plain being pulled to the endless horizon by the wind.

Every time I go out to study in a different place, I can't stop the tears in my eyes, bid farewell to my family and partners, carry heavy bags on my back and embark on a long journey step by step.

Gradually, I watched the familiar town blur and then disappear.

I saw the big tree outside the window, and its branches pointed to many roads.

There is only one starting point and one ending point. Everyone who leaves his hometown takes away a green leaf, but leaves a root.

When I go to Mo jathyapple tomorrow, I will think of my parents and the small house full of memories.

Father picked up the dead branches, as if to decorate those broken days one by one, and then handed the warmth to my hands. I seem to see the dim white flame lit by my mother in the kang stove in winter, burning in my heart.

This faint yearning is so warm and kind.

Another moonlit night, I lay quietly in my bedroom, surrounded by countless books and mountains and seas, clutching my diligent paddle and struggling in the ocean of knowledge.

Outside, the wind was blowing relentlessly, and the heavy rain formed a rain curtain outside the window. I curled up in the corner of the bed. I felt countless cold around me, and tears filled my eyes. I feel an unspeakable sense of loss. I want to hug my parents' warm arms, but I can't. Homesickness is inevitable. I have my own dreams to pursue, and I can only tidy up my feelings.

The rain outside the window is still floating underground, and the water curtain is still falling.

Homesickness, in the book, in my heart. ...

Looking up, I found it was moonlight, sinking again, and I suddenly remembered home. Give the long-simmering thoughts to the autumn wind, let the bright moon interpret the melody of lovesickness, let the reunited heart fly to the sky, and think of you-my hometown-under the mottled night sky in a foreign land.

My hometown-Oriental Green Spring.

Such as bridges and flowing water, beautiful environment and simple folk customs.

There are my beloved grandma, grandpa and childhood friends.

In order to study, I came to a city far away from home and went home at most once a week. I don't know what it's like to be homesick. I envy seeing my friends go home happily every weekend. Weekends are empty and lifeless. In the lonely light at night, no one can talk. The only thing I can do is to call my family to relieve loneliness, or call my friends to talk about the recent situation and prove that I am not a lonely person.

The night is long and the homesickness is getting stronger and stronger. I am not sleepy at all. My thoughts will chase the bright sun in my hometown, and my tears will flow away quietly.

I am homesick.

At the end of each semester, it is the time I look forward to most.

Usually a week before the holiday, I can't resist my feelings.

This week is undoubtedly the longest and happiest week of the school year for me. I am immersed in the joy of going home, not to mention reviewing my lessons.

This is also my most boring point. My mind always trumps my ambition. Every time I pick up a book and cram, that kind of joy comes back. Of course, my textbooks are also thrown aside to pack my bags, even though my bags have been collected many times ... In my hometown, I have been lying in bed facing the west for many nights, looking up at the night sky, thinking about growing up in my hometown, imagining that there is a smiling face hidden in every star, which makes people think.

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Please indicate the source? Literary works about homesickness