Some strings break again and again, and again and again. The memory of crawling and rolling in the years is blown through the summer by the wind, leaving a whispering rhythm, again and again. How many trance are missing, such changes, that year today, now that year.
People of our generation have endured for many years and have finally come to this day. Downstairs Wanzhong car shadow, the interpretation of the endless prosperity, never forget, childhood oxcart cordial, a song, a whip, a pastoral flute. The waves of a big river are wide, and the wind blows the scent of rice flowers on both sides. The motherland I love has already suffered a long time ago. This is a beautiful hometown and the place where I grew up, but now everything has changed.
The night outside the window is as dark as day, quietly arousing the grandparents there, leaving kindness in the bottom of their hearts, all have left with a smile. Suddenly I can't remember when the big tree at the head of the village became a road, and the high radio was unloaded by the children. I still remember the song "the East is Red". Every day I open my bleary eyes in such music, and I have endless power every time. Small hands holding a book, full of admiration to read the "long March", so the difficult years they have survived, and now we, I am deeply pondered.
When I think of those hard times, I never seem to mind wearing shabby trousers. I always wash the red scarf the cleanest every time I go home. We are Young Pioneers, we stand under the team flag to swear: I am determined to follow the leadership of Communist Party of China. Today, that party is not that party, and I am not the one who raised my hand over my head and solemnly vowed.
I can't say whether I should laugh or cry. Jiang Jie's red flag embroidered with joy and tears usually does not blink in Dao Cong, but her heart beats very fast today. Qiu Shaoyun, why are you so patient? Dong Cunrui, why are you holding the bomb? Huang Jiguang, aren't you afraid that we all forget you? Those old people who told the story of the Red Army, sometimes crying, sometimes laughing, sitting on the mud brick, I listened to the story with my head raised and silently wiped my tears.
The thread is long, the needle is dense, with tears embroidering the red flag, tears follow the needle and thread. Those kids in the back, do you only remember money? Every time I sing a red song, why do you laugh? I really don't understand.
Memory with the changes of time, childhood is always full of longing for the big city, now living in prosperity, but the heart yearns for the joys and sorrows of many years ago. At that time, when I watched "Underground Warfare" and "Mine Warfare", I couldn't help standing up and clapping my palms bright red. The "White Horse Feifei" that made me cry to death, who gave you the courage to go on hunger strike, clenched fists, my childishness is full of grief and indignation.
Is the hatred of the nation still continuing? if so, why are colleagues in the office still cheating, and how is corruption still ablaze as a matter of course? As for our nation, if we pick up half of our comrades-in-arms who go through fire and water, even if we do fight again, what are we afraid of?
I am alone here crying and laughing, those distant pale years, not how to remember, but more looking forward to the inheritance of glory. I know that after so many years of suffering in my beloved motherland, how can I have the heart to let the Yangtze River and the Yellow River be destroyed by ant nests? At the top of the cliff mountain, is it true that the belief and inheritance of 100,000 soldiers and civilians are really in the hands of our generation?
Food and clothing do not forget the virtue of heaven and earth, cloth clothes often think of ancestral grace. I was stunned when I thought of the couplets I would write every Chinese New year.
Author: Canyue QQ:261305108
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