Our Festival Tomb-Sweeping Day Composition

Give you two choices, prose and poetry. I wrote this prose poem in Han Jing class, and the teacher helped me write it. The next one was introduced to me by my teacher. I can refer to it and do the same in the future.

1, the last afterglow of the sunset sank. The air is very dignified, like an old dusty house, dignified, sad and dark. The breeze around the branches, like naughty children, makes the young leaves tremble in early spring. Everything is wet, crowded streets, bicycles in front of the door, banners hanging, and people with solemn expressions. Just as Bai Juyi said in Cold Food Wild Hope: "Crows make trees faint, and Qingming cold food will cry. The wind blows the paper money in the wilderness, and the spring grass in the tomb is green.

Pear blossoms reflect poplar trees, full of parting places. I don't hear the heavy spring crying, but the rustling rain makes people return. "Everything is thinking, and we convey a cold breath.

The beginning of a scene description is a bit heavy, but it fits the meaning of the question very well.

Next, you'd better continue to write along this road, and you can write an essay with cultural flavor.

2. Poetry

Qingming always gives people the impression of rainy days.

Or stormy, or rainy, from morning till dusk,

In foggy and rainy Shan Ye, on muddy roads,

There are always grave-sweepers facing the wind and rain, embellishing loneliness and going again;

Or in groups of three or five, helping the elderly and carrying the young, or one or two lonely shadows, limping.

The distant mountains are hidden in the clouds, and the trees are caged in front of the lonely smoke.

Bridges flow, crows cry sadly, rain washes clear autumn, and wind blows sadness.

I only saw misty rain, but I didn't see people and kitchen smoke.

What a sad and lonely journey, what a sad and wandering picture.

Looking up, I saw the graveyard dark:

Hundreds of graves arched and thousands of stone tablets stood in the forest; Misty rain, fragrant grass leaves.

A desolate, a sad, a dead silence!

The mountains are lonely and sparsely populated, and the trees are raining!

The wind is blowing, the rain is falling, the sorrow is long and the sorrow is misty.

Don't be ecstatic, where is the incense?

Pull up a pile of messy grass, put down a few glasses of iced wine, burn a handful of paper money,

The wind and rain are coming, the cups are full of sorrow, the weeds are full of smoke, and there is nothing to say.

It's just that my heart is full of faint sadness, faint sadness!

The dead are gone, and the living are always sad! The voice and face are vivid,

When I inculcate, my words are still in my ears, but my customers are rushing into the water.

With the fate of the world, thousands of miles miss the lonely grave.