Poems about the fields of my hometown

1. Sentences describing the fields

Beautiful sentences describing the fields

1. The golden fields in the autumn are shining in the sunshine. The joy of harvest.

2. The field is not wild at all: it has its charm and beauty, just like the little sparkles it sheds; the gold is bright and not stingy; the wind is soft, just like her ribbons, and the fragrance of rice is faintly floating. Float up, pull out the straw, as if fireflies will quietly emerge.

3. In the lower fields, the rice is ripe and golden, as if someone has laid a thick layer of gold on the ground. The autumn waves shook the rice, making the heavy ears of rice fluctuate rhythmically, as if the golden mountain was landslide. The sound of wind and rice waves is like a moving piece of music.

4. In early winter, the green of the mountains and fields has not yet faded, and there are still a few grass tips that have not been dyed yellow.

5. Autumn is here, and the fields in my hometown are like a bride with heavy makeup, and the earth dresses her in bright embroidered clothes.

6. The golden wind blows, the endless rice fields are like waves in the sea, and the heavy ears of grain are like shy girls lowering their heads shyly.

7. Autumn fields, harvest fields, fields full of hope, I praise you and sing your praises.

8. When autumn comes, the leaves are falling one after another, the air is crisp, and the fruits are abundant. It’s so charming! Looking at the fields in spring, summer, autumn and winter, the most beautiful and attractive ones are the fields in autumn.

9. The fields are green, but they are green in different ways: dark green, oily green, tender green, neatly divided into small pieces.

10. In the field, ears of sorghum stand proudly. When the autumn wind blows, they are like torches of victory, swaying happily. 2. Field composition in my hometown

Although my hometown does not have any places of interest, it is not beautiful either.

But the endless fields are unforgettable. In spring, I came to the fields.

The entire field exudes the fresh, moist smell of earth. The graceful willow trees waved their green arms and danced, sending down clouds of catkins; a few cute little swallows flew freely in the sky, chirping, as if to tell everyone that they were safe.

In summer, the sun is shining brightly, and there is no wind in the fields. It is like a steamer, so stuffy that people can’t breathe. The green seedlings drooped their heads listlessly; the frogs screamed "croak" on the edge of the field, which made people even more upset.

In autumn, like a magician, he took out a bag from his side. In that bag, there are endless fruits in the fields, and you can't take them all. The autumn fields are golden, shining with the joy of harvest under the sunshine.

In winter, only bare branches are left in the fields, the water in the river turns to ice, and there is nothing left to quench your appetite in the fields. We made snowmen on the snow and had snowball fights...

. Our small footprints and strings of bell-like laughter are left on the snow. ah! I love you - the fields in my hometown, you gave my childhood dreams wings and made them fly; I love you - the fields in my hometown, I will always love you no matter where I go to the end of the world. 3. Poems describing hometown

1. The road to my hometown. On the days when I leave home at night, the road to my hometown always stretches into my thoughts the moment I close my eyes, lingering with memories. The road to my hometown is filled with my childhood. Joys and sorrows.

Sweet and sour.

With tears and smiles, at this moment, I feel that no matter how bitter or sweet it was, it is a melodious song that touches the heart in my memory, like a clear spring. The road in my hometown carries my yesterday. Yesterday, I was running in ragged clothes with the wind on a field full of weeds. Chasing the smiling spring on the dirt roadside 2. Homesickness in the rain, continuous drizzle, continuous drizzle. The raindrops falling in the sky form a line, just like a wanderer's continuous longing for his hometown. The rain must have washed out a clear village. The wheat waves are in the dreams of the folks. Rolling over a corner of the eaves among the green trees, smoke curling up from the kitchen, imagining climbing up the hill in my hometown. My father sat on the door of the old house, wiping the fatigue from his forehead with the back of his hand, lighting a dry cigarette, squinting slightly and watching the raindrops falling on the eaves, constantly converging into joy. The stream flowed to the green fields. 3 Sitting on the door of my old home, I sat on the door of my old home and looked at the clouds in the sky. The blue sky became darker because of the more clouds. On the apricot tree in front of the door, a donkey was chewing the scent of grass. I don’t know which house. The donkey also raised its neck and brayed, and a white rabbit brayed like snow.

1. The road to my hometown, the days and nights when I leave home, the road to my hometown always stretches into my thoughts and lingers with my memories the moment I close my eyes. The road to my hometown is filled with the joys and sorrows of my childhood. Sweet and sour.

Tears and smiles now feel that no matter the bitterness or sweetness of the past, it is a melodious song that touches the heart in my memory, like a clear spring. The road to my hometown carries my yesterday. Yesterday, I was ragged. The wind runs along the dirt roadside covered with weeds, chasing the smiling spring. 2. Homesickness in the rain. The drizzle, the drizzle. The raindrops falling in the sky form a line, just like a wanderer who keeps missing his hometown. The waves of wheat in the village roll over a corner of the green trees in the dreams of the villagers. The smoke from the roof is rising from the roof. I imagine climbing up the hill in my hometown. My father is sitting on the door of the old house, wiping the fatigue from his forehead with the back of his hand. He lights a cigarette and squints slightly to look at the roof. The raindrops continue to fall and merge into a cheerful stream flowing to the green fields. 3 Sitting on the door of my old home, I sit on the door of my old home and look at the clouds in the sky. The blue sky becomes deeper because of the more clouds. It is on top of the thick apricot tree in front of the door. The donkey was chewing the scent of grass. A donkey from somewhere brayed. The donkey also raised its neck and brayed. A white rabbit, as white as snow, suddenly jumped past me, stopped, and ran toward a few chickens in the grass. One of them ran out of the grass with a cry. One of them stretched out its neck and swallowed an insect. A familiar voice made me look at the thin mother at the intersection who was driving the piglets home. 4 The song of homesickness is a perfect match for missing one’s hometown. A melodious and beautiful song is always written in the deep nights when the moon hangs high and the stars blink, and a wisp of clouds is cut by the breeze. Always on such nights, I sing softly with a homesick heart about my lovely and beautiful hometown. The blue sky, white clouds, green mountains, The golden waves of wheat in the green water must have begun to roll again. Look, there are smiles on the lips of the villagers. Tonight, just sleep peacefully. In the dream, sleep with your hometown and have a happy dream. When you wake up, maybe your father will take the whip. Driving the donkey to carry some hope 5 Hometown, the hometown of my poems, a village lying in the ravine. I want to use the pen in my hand and the thoughts flowing in my heart to write a poem to praise you for my hometown. My hometown stretches across the sky. The backbone of the undulating mountains sings softly from the meandering streams in the ravines. The lights are shining under the moon, and the cool breeze lifts the clothes of the night. Then I insert my wings in the dreams of the mountain people and fly, fly... fly... Go to the glorious hometown ahead, under the weak candlelight, your son is typing on the keyboard with tears, arranging the missing sentences into jumping lines of poetry. 6. Go home on May 1st and pack a bag of homesickness, and step on a row of cars crawling on the mountain road. My dear Hometown, your son is coming towards you. The dust is flying all the way. How many times the wanderer's homesickness in his dreams is just like this flying dust falling in the late night of my hometown. The mountain peaks are green all the way. The stream flows slowly. How many times in the dream of the wanderer, the homesickness is like this beautiful scenery of clear mountains and clear water. In the poem of the wanderer, a picture flows out, with new green willow buds all the way.

How many times the fragrance of flowers returns to the memory of the wanderer, and his homesickness is like this touching spring. In the wanderer’s deep eyes looking at his hometown from afar, he pulls out strands of attachment that cannot be brushed away. When he goes home, his wheels roll across the mountain road of his hometown, so there is A corner of the vicissitudes of the eaves looms between the gaps in the leaves. A poem after waking up at 7 o'clock. My hometown is used to entertaining the wanderers who return home, but the wanderers are no longer used to taking a quiet nap at home.

The sound of wind, birds, roosters, and tractors woke up the hot money from his dream. The sunlight slanted on his face through the window grilles. The bursts of bird songs mixed with the laughter of children echoed in the spring. Walking out of the gate like a wooden fence.

Watch the light wind chasing spring running in the blue sky. The light clouds wave their snow-white long sleeves to cheer for spring. The green wheat seedlings spread their carpets on the hillside. The poems of hope roll on the land of my hometown. At the edge of the village, the children hold hands Look at the adults playing around with apricot, pear and peach blossoms and scolding the children for scaring spring away. There is a group of little birds on the old locust tree. They flutter their wings and soar towards the westward direction of the sun. 8 My hometown, my hometown, my hometown, the place where I was born and raised. My dream every night when I am wandering in a foreign land. The winding mountain road is always haunted by your appearance, leaving every footprint of my growth. Witnessing the growth of a mountain village boy. Witnessing the slow development of a mountain village. The green fields on the mountain roadside are rolling with waves in the spring breeze. It seems that the beautiful hopes of the villagers are drifting towards the distance of their dreams. The mountain ridges connecting the fields stretch continuously to the distance of their dreams. The peaks that disappear into the sky are the faces of the loess houses lying at the foot of the mountains that the grandparents and grandchildren look out on with expectation from generation to generation. Carved with wind and frost, I caressed the childish faces of my children and grandchildren with rough hands covered with calluses. The willows and poplars surrounding the house and the wisps of cooking smoke slowly floated towards the blue sky with the wishes of the villagers, and a few cordial cries of cattle and sheep. Awakening the homesick wanderer from his dream, he typed out a few lines of poetry on the keyboard, flowing quietly like a river in his hometown. 9 On the other side of the mountain is my hometown. On the other side of the mountain is my hometown. The grass on the mountain is dancing in the wind, and the beautiful pond at the foot of the mountain is beautiful. Fertile fields, green fields are fragrant, and most of all, the river in the ravine is like a beating pulse. In spring, there are endless apricot blossom branches. In spring and summer, the green leaves cover the sky and overflow with coolness. In autumn, the continuous rain cannot cool the lover's heart in winter. The heavy snow leaves no trace but cannot bury the impulsive feelings of young people. There is endless smoke from my hometown on the other side of the mountain. 4. What are some poems that describe the scenery of hometown?

1. "Passing through the old friend's village"

Tang Dynasty: Meng Haoran

An old friend invited me to Tian's house with chicken and millet. . The green trees border the village, and the green mountains and hills slope outside.

Open a dining room and chat over wine. When the Double Ninth Festival comes, there will be chrysanthemums.

Translation: An old friend prepared a sumptuous meal and invited me to his hospitable farmhouse. Green woods surround the village, and green mountains lie outside the city. Open the window and face the vegetable garden of the threshing floor, holding a wine glass in hand and chatting about the crops. When the Double Ninth Festival comes, please come here to enjoy the chrysanthemums.

2. "Quequatrains"

Tang Dynasty: Du Fu

Two orioles sang in the green willows, and a row of egrets climbed into the blue sky.

The window contains the snow of Qianqiu in Xiling, and the door is docked with a ship thousands of miles away from Dongwu.

Translation: Two orioles sang gracefully among the green willow trees, and a neat group of egrets soared into the blue sky. Sitting in front of the window, I can see the snow that never melts all year round on the west ridge, and the ships that have traveled thousands of miles away from Soochow are moored in front of the door.

3. "Visiting Shanxi Village"

Song Dynasty: Lu You

Mo Xiao's farmer's wax wine is thick, and in good years the guests are full of chickens and dolphins. The mountains and rivers are full of doubts and there is no way, and the willows and flowers are dark and the flowers are bright in another village.

The flutes and drums follow the spring society, and the clothes and clothes are simple and ancient. From now on, if I am allowed to take advantage of the moonlight, I will knock on the door all the time and night with my stick.

Translation: Don’t laugh at the turbid wine brewed by farmers in the twelfth lunar month. In years of good harvest, the dishes for entertaining guests are very rich. The mountains are overlapping and the water is twisting. I am worried that there is no way to go. Suddenly, another mountain village appears in front of me.

The day of playing the flute and playing the drum in Chunshe is approaching, but the villagers still retain the ancient custom of simple clothes. In the future, if I can still take advantage of the beautiful moonlight to go out for leisurely walks, I will definitely knock on your door at any time with a cane.

4. "Rain in the Mountain Village"

Tang Dynasty: Wang Jian

One or two roosters crow in the rain, and the bridge on the road in Zhuxi Village is slanted.

The woman and the aunt called each other to bathe the silkworms and look at the gardenias in the courtyard.

Translation: A cock crows in the rain, and there are only one or two houses in the mountain village. There is a plank bridge diagonally across the Zhuxi River on the village road. Mother-in-law and daughter-in-law called each other to select silkworm seeds together. Only the gardenia bloomed and swayed alone in the courtyard.

5. "Pastoral Miscellany of the Four Seasons Part 2"

Song Dynasty: Fan Chengda

The plums are golden and the apricots are fat, the wheat flowers are sparse and the white cauliflower flowers are sparse.

No one passes through the fence during the long day, only dragonflies and butterflies fly.

Translation: The plum trees turned golden and the apricots grew bigger and bigger; the buckwheat flowers were all white, while the rapeseed flowers looked sparse. As the day grows longer, the shadow of the fence becomes shorter and shorter as the sun rises. No one passes by; only dragonflies and butterflies fly around the fence. 5. Composition describing the fields in my hometown in the morning, noon and evening

Walking straight ahead along the winding path, you came to the fields of our village. Looking around, the fields are green. If it were not cut off by the Jiqing Expressway that crosses it, the fields would really become an extra-large green carpet.

If you go to the field in the morning, you can see the "pearls" on the wheat seedlings, crystal clear and translucent, inlaid on the tender green wheat leaves, as if they are a piece of ingenious work. Sculpture. The field seemed to have just taken a bath. At this time, the fields bring us fresh air and the unique earthy smell of the countryside.

At noon, the sun was shining brightly, and those "pearls" did not dare to stay on the leaves anymore. Mai Miao lay comfortably on the ground, letting the sun dry her wet clothes, and shook her little head proudly, as if to say, "It's great to get some sunshine!" Our children like to play in the fields the most at this time, playing and letting go. Flying kites, digging wild vegetables, catching fish in puddles, building "projects" in pits... the fields bring us infinite fun.

In the evening, the rays of light left by the sun before it left dyed half of the sky red. These red lights reflected on the fields, and the fields changed their colors. At this time, the fields were silent. Compared with the bustle at noon, it was like a completely different world.

I love the fields in my hometown because it brings us happiness, joy and beauty!