I can't find a poem that people describe as urgent.

My hometown is thinking thousands of miles tonight, and it is another year of the Ming Dynasty. The child held hands and asked, why don't you come back? People say that the place where the sun sets is the horizon. I try to look at the horizon, but I can't see my home.

Blue sky, yellow flower land, tight west wind, flying north and south. Who is drunk in Xiao Lai's frost forest? Always in tears. Looking down at the ground, it is full of haggard yellow flowers, crying, grieving and wasting away, but these flowers can't see the end. Autumn is deep, and there is a breeze everywhere, but it blows faster and faster, making people feel cold. Looking up, I saw flocks of geese flying to the south, which inevitably added a little chill to my heart. On that day, I was opposite to that place, set each other off and became interesting, showing some sadness, but I had to wander in the vast universe and find my own home. Who dyed these frosty leaves so intoxicating red in this late autumn? Is it sad autumn and winter? Is it a brief encounter? Are they tears? No, that's the sad tears of the parting people!