Modern poetry full of memories of the reservoir area

Looking at the reservoir area,

In addition to green mountains and green waters,

Others,

I have been sleeping on the ground floor of the library.

No immigrants,

Don't lament the passage of time,

I can only watch silently,

Can you, uh,

Hold the old house river at the bottom of the reservoir in your arms.

No immigrants,

Will be together again,

Willing to go back to the old place,

Even if the water level is already low,

The waves on the shore,

You can only make ripples in your dreams.

No immigrants,

Will turn back to the bend of the stone ridge behind the mountain,

Is broken walls in tears?

Immigrants in the new sky,

An Sheng has a new vision.

Once the name and craft of the village,

The handmade dustpan in Shengkeng Village,

Pairs of labor tools,

Pick out the fruit trees on the mountain and turn them into forests.

Pick out the potatoes on the slope,

Pick out the golden ears of rice,

Choose girls and boys, love each other,

The blood relationship passed down from generation to generation.

The big baskets and steamer in Tanxi Village,

Every family must be prepared,

I will remember without thinking,

White jade steamed bread is steaming,

Once eaten, it will be sweet for life.

How could anyone forget?

Straw hats woven by women here,

This is a first-class shading and decoration technology.

Moonlight and oil lamps hang in the off-season,

Divide into groups. Laughter,

Fingers swim like guqin,

Although the sound of the piano is not very beautiful,

But everyone never gives up.

Persimmons in Yang Fan Village are red again.

Looking at the distance, like a small lantern,

This tree is as old as Taigong,

Whenever the morning light is dim,

The village is shrouded in mystery,

Listen to chickens and dogs,

Everyone saw the shadow of the village,

The vulture took the whole family,

Even nesting,

It said it was his,

I said it was mine,

Angry eyes flew to the stone,

The tree is tall and the horse is big.

I can only shake my head and scratch my boots in the air.

I don't know how many stories I remember in my hometown.

Since I left my motherland,

Don't think I don't want to record,

I just want to collect it into a poem.

Write a song,

Put it in your schoolbag or pocket,

Meet old friends and relatives,

Recite singing anytime, anywhere.

Don't think about it,

Home where you can keep your memories,

But the memory will fade away,

Don't think about it,

We can keep today,

Today will be yesterday,

Don't think about it,

You can keep tomorrow,

Tomorrow will be the past,

I just want to say,

Hometown is hard to stay,

Birds belong to the sky,

Home belongs to the earth,

We also belong to the sunny land,

Dear friends, be happy every day in the sunny land.

2065438+May 9, 2007

The horse is in Du Qiao