“故乡的歌,是一支清远的笛,总在有月亮的晚上响起。”心中想着这句诗,我回到了久别的故乡。故乡还是老样子——一条曲折的马路贯穿在金黄色的田野中,整齐的砖瓦泥房静静地排列在马路一侧,一棵棵饱经沧桑的老树守护在屋后……微风徐徐,故乡恬静地躺着。踏着田间湿泞的小路,沐浴着清晨的阳光,我张开双手,贪婪地吮吸着这难得的恬静。金黄色的麦 “Hometown song, is a flute of Qingyuan, always in the moon night sounded.” "Think of this poem in my heart, I returned to a long time ago hometown. Hometown is still the same - a winding road runs through the golden fields, neat brick mud room quietly arranged in the side of the road, a tree full of vicissitudes of old trees guarding the back of the house ... ... breeze slowly, hometown quiet Lying on the ground Inspired by the muddy path of the field, bathed in the early morning sunshine, I opened my hands and sucked this rare tranquility greedily. Golden wheat