Five classic articles are about 100-300 words.

Author: Zhu Ziqing

Swallows have gone, and there is a time to come again; Willow withered, there is a time to green again; The peach blossom withered, but it blossomed again. But, smart, tell me, why are our days gone forever? Someone stole them: who is that? Where is it hidden? They escaped by themselves: where are they now?

I don't know how many days they gave me; But my hands are getting empty. Counting silently, more than 8 thousand days slipped away from me quietly; Like a drop of water on the tip of a needle in the sea, my days are dripping in the stream of time, without sound or shadow. I can't help bursting into tears.

Go wherever you go, and come wherever you come; What's the hurry between going and coming? When I get up in the morning, two or three sunsets shoot into the hut. The sun has feet, and it has moved gently and quietly; I also follow the rotation blankly. So-when washing your hands, the days pass from the basin; When eating, the days pass from the rice bowl; When I was silent, I passed by my eyes. I think he is in a hurry. When I reached out to cover my arm, he passed by the covered hand again. When I was lying in bed at dark, he passed me and flew away from my feet. When I open my eyes and see the sun again, it will be a new day. I covered my face and sighed. But the shadow of the new day began to flash with a sigh.

What can I do in the days when I fly away, in the world of thousands of families? Only wandering, only running; In the rush of more than 8,000 days, what is left except wandering? The past days, like smoke, were scattered by the breeze, like fog, evaporated by Chu Yang; What traces did I leave? Did I leave traces like hairspring? I came into this world naked, and I will go back naked in the blink of an eye? But it can't be flat. Why did you come for nothing this time?

You are very clever. Tell me, why are our days gone forever?

Plum blossom soul

Hui Ying Chen

The plum blossoms in my hometown are in bloom again. Plum blossoms in Leng Yan always remind me of my grandfather who drifted away and died in a foreign country.

I was born in Sing Tao, Southeast Asia, and lived with my grandfather since childhood. When my grandfather was young, he read a lot of classics, history and poems. He was good at painting and calligraphy, and he was famous in Sing Tao literature. When I was very young, my grandfather used to hold me in a pear-blossom chair and taught me to read Tang poetry and Song poetry over and over again. Every time I read a sentence like "Being in a foreign land, I miss my relatives more every festive season", "Spring grass turns green, my friend's prince, and you?" And "flying freely is as light as a dream and endless rain is as thin as sorrow", there are always two cold tears falling on my cheeks and the back of my hand. At this time, I will clap my hands and laugh: "Grandpa is crying! Grandpa cried! " The old man always shook his head, sighed long and said, "Yinger, you are too young to understand!" " "

There are many antiques in my grandfather's house. I fiddle with it occasionally, and the old man doesn't care much. Only the one in the study, the meme map, which he cherishes so much that his family can't touch it. When I was five years old, I went back to my study to play, and accidentally left a dirty handprint on it. My grandfather immediately pulled down his face. For the first time in my life, I heard him reprimand my mother: "Children should be disciplined. Has this innocent plum blossom been defiled? " After the training, he gently scraped off the stains with a safety knife and then slowly wiped them off with fine silk. Seeing my kind grandfather lose his temper, I was afraid and surprised: what's so rare about a plum blossom?

One day, my mother suddenly said to me, "Yinger, we are going back to Tangshan!" " "

"Why do you want to go back?" "That is our motherland!"

Oh! Is the motherland like a golden rooster on that map? Is that the land of the Yangtze River, Yellow River and Wan Li Great Wall? I cheered and my little heart was filled with joy.

However, I immediately thought of my grandfather, my dear grandfather. I asked my mother, "Is Grandpa leaving?"

"Grandpa is too old ..." I ran into grandpa's study, and the old man was lying on the rattan sofa. I said, "Grandpa, go back to your motherland!" " "Unexpectedly, my grandfather cried like a child ... The morning before he left, he got up early, called me to the study and solemnly handed me a roll of things wrapped in white silk. I opened it and found it was Mo Mei. I said, "Grandpa, isn't this your most precious painting? "

"Yes, Yinger, you should keep it well! This plum blossom is the most famous flower in China. Next to the flowers, it is probably the warmth of spring, but she is different. The colder the weather, the more the wind oppresses the snow, and the more energetic bloom is, the more delicate it is. She has the most character, soul and backbone! For thousands of years, our Chinese nation has produced many upright people. No matter how many hardships they have experienced and how much bullying they have suffered, they have always held their heads high and refused to bow their heads. They are like this plum blossom. A China person, no matter what the situation, always has the nature of plum blossom! " The day I returned to China was New Year's Day. Although there is no such thing as deep winter in the tropics, the weather in1February is chilly after all. Grandpa sent us to the dock. The wind blowing from the equator messed up the old man's tidy silver hair on weekdays, and I think grandpa has aged a lot at once.

The ship was about to leave, so my mother had to make a determined effort to pull me on the big passenger ship. Unexpectedly, my tearful grandfather got on the boat and handed me a handkerchief-a white linen embroidered with blood plum blossoms.

How many years have passed, every time I see this plum blossom picture and grandpa's handkerchief collection, I feel that it is not just a flower, but also an overseas Chinese old man in a foreign country.

Bing Xin's prose "Little Orange Lamp"

This was more than ten years ago.

One afternoon before the Spring Festival, I went to see a friend in the suburbs of Chongqing.

She lives above the town hall in that village. Walking up the dark stairs, I walked into a room with a square table and several bamboo stools, and a telephone on the wall. Then I went into my friend's room, separated from the outside by a curtain. She is not at home. There is a note on the table by the window saying that she will go out temporarily and asked me to wait for her.

I sat down at her desk and picked up a newspaper to read. Suddenly, I heard the door of the outhouse creak open. After a while, I heard someone moving a bamboo stool. I opened the curtain and saw a little girl, only about eight or nine years old, with a thin and pale face, purple lips with cold, short hair, worn-out clothes and a pair of sandals barefoot, boarding a bamboo stool to meet the listener on the wall. When she saw me, she seemed startled and shrank back. I asked her, "Are you going to call?" As she climbed down the bamboo stool, she nodded and said, "I want a doctor in the hospital." My mother just vomited a lot of blood! " "I asked," Do you know the phone number of the hospital? " She shook her head and said, "I was just about to ask the telephone office ..." I quickly found the hospital number from the phone book next to the machine and asked her, "Who should I invite to see a doctor?" She said, "Just say that Wang Chunlin's family is ill and she will come. "

The phone got through, she thanked me gratefully and then left. I grabbed her and asked, "Is your home far?" She pointed out the window and said, "It's just under the big yellow fruit tree in the mountain nest, and it's within walking distance." With that, he went downstairs.

I went back to the back room, read the newspaper back and forth, and picked up a copy of Three Hundred Tang Poems. Halfway through it, it was getting darker and darker, but my friend still didn't come back. Bored, I stood up, looked at the misty mountain scenery outside the window, saw the hut under the Huangguoshu, and suddenly wanted to see the little girl and her sick mother. I went downstairs and bought some red oranges at the door, stuffed them in my handbag and walked along the uneven stone road to the door of the hut.

I tapped on the door of the board. Just now, the little girl came out to open the door. She looked up at me, paused for a moment, and then smiled and beckoned me in. The room was small and dark, covered with boards against the wall. Her mother lay flat with her eyes closed. She is probably asleep, her head is covered with blood, and her face is turned inward, only to see the messy hair on her face and a big bun at the back of her head.

There is a small charcoal stove by the door, with a small casserole on it, steaming slightly. The little girl asked me to sit on the stool in front of the stove. She squatted next to me and looked at me all the time. I asked softly, "Has the doctor been here?" She said, "yes, I gave my mother an injection ... she is fine now." She seemed to comfort me and said, "Don't worry, the doctor will come again tomorrow morning." I asked, "Did she eat? What's in this pot? " She smiled and said, "sweet potato porridge-our New Year's Eve." I remembered the oranges I brought, so I took them out and put them on the low table beside the bed. Without saying anything, she reached for the biggest orange, peeled off a section of the skin with a small knife, and gently rubbed more than half of the bottom with her hands.

I asked in a low voice, "Who else is in your family?" She said, "No one is here now, my father has gone outside ..." She didn't go on, but slowly took out an orange from the orange peel and put it next to her mother's pillow.

The light of the fire gradually dimmed and the outside turned black. I stood up to leave and she took my hand. She quickly took the big needle of twine and surrounded the small orange bowl relatively, like a small basket, carrying it with a small bamboo stick. She also took a short wax head from the windowsill, lit it in it and handed it to me, saying, "It's dark, the road is slippery, and this little orange light shines on you up the hill!" "

I took it appreciatively and thanked her. She walked me out. I don't know what to say. She seemed to comfort me and said, "Dad will be back soon. My mother will be fine by then. " She drew a circle in front of her with her little hand and finally pressed it on my hand: "We are all fine!" " "Obviously, this" everyone "also includes me.

I am carrying this clever little orange lamp and walking slowly on the dark and humid mountain road. This hazy orange light really can't shine far, but the little girl's calm, brave and optimistic spirit inspired me, and I seemed to feel that there was infinite light in front of me!

My friend has come back and saw me carrying a small orange lamp and asked me where I came from. I said, "From ... from Wang Chunlin's house." She said in surprise, "Wang Chunlin the carpenter, how do you know him?" Last year, in the medical college at the foot of the mountain, several students were taken away by the producer of * * *, and later Wang Chunlin also disappeared. It is said that he often delivers letters for those students ... "

That night, I left the mountain village, and I never heard from the little girl and her mother again. But from then on, every Spring Festival, I will think of that little orange lamp. 12 years have passed, and the little girl's father must have come back early. Her mother must be fine, too, right? Because we are all "good"!

weeds

Lu Xun

When I am silent, I feel full; I will open my mouth and feel empty at the same time.

The past life is dead. I am happy for this death, because I know it once lived. The dead life has rotted. I get great pleasure from this decay, because I know it is not empty.

It is my sin to leave the mud of life on the ground, not to plant trees, but to grow weeds.

The weeds are not deep at all, and the flowers and leaves are not beautiful. However, they absorb dew, water, blood and old and dead meat, and each one takes it to survive. When you are alive, you will still be trampled and cut until you die and rot.

But I am calm and happy. I can laugh and I can sing.

I love my weeds, but I hate the ground decorated with weeds.

The fire ran underground and rushed; Once the lava is ejected, it will burn all the weeds and trees, so it will not rot.

But I am calm and happy. I can laugh and I can sing.

It's so quiet between heaven and earth that I can't laugh and sing. If heaven and earth were not so quiet, I might or might not. Before giving this bunch of weeds to friends and enemies, people and beasts, lovers and lovers, I take this bunch of weeds as my witness in the time of light and darkness, life and death, past and future.

For myself, for friends and enemies, for man and beast, for lovers and lovers, I hope the decay of this weed will come soon. Otherwise, I can't live, which is more unfortunate than death and decay.

Come on, weed, attach my inscription!

Autumn Night-Lu Xun

In my backyard, you can see two trees outside the wall, one is jujube, and the other is jujube.

The night sky overhead is strange and high. I have never seen such a strange and high sky in my life. He seems to be leaving this world, so that people will never see his back again. However, now it is blue, with dozens of stars flashing, and it is cold. He laughed off his quarrel as if he thought it was meaningful and sprinkled countless frost on the wild flowers and plants in my garden.

I don't know what the real names of those flowers and plants are and what people call them. I remember a little pink flower. It is still in full bloom, but it is smaller. In the cold air at night, she timidly dreamed of the arrival of spring and autumn. She dreamed that the thin poet wiped tears on her last petal and told her that although autumn came, winter came, and then spring, butterflies flew around and bees sang the word spring. She went on laughing, and though her face was red with cold, she still winced.

Jujube trees, they just lost all their leaves. In the past, one or two children came to beat the dates left by others, but now none of them are left, even the leaves have fallen off. He knows that after the autumn, there must be spring. He also knows that the dream of falling leaves is to go to Qiu Lai in spring. He lost almost all the leaves, leaving only qianzi. However, he took off the arc when the tree was full of fruits and lush foliage, and he was very comfortable. However, a few branches are still low, protecting the skin injury he got from the tip of the jujube pole, while the straightest and longest branches have been silently stabbing the strange and high sky like a subway, making the sky blink; Stabbed the full moon in the sky, making the moon pale with embarrassment.

The sky in which ghosts blink is getting bluer and bluer, and more and more uneasy, as if to leave this world and avoid jujube trees, leaving only the moon. However, the moon also sneaked to the east. Qianzi, who has nothing, still silently stabs at the strange and lofty sky like a subway, bent on killing him, no matter how many pairs of bewitched eyes he blinks.

Wow, here comes the nightingale.

I suddenly heard laughter in the middle of the night and ate all over the floor. I don't seem to want to disturb the sleeping people, but the air around me should smile. In the middle of the night, there is no one else. I immediately recognized the voice in my mouth, and I was immediately driven away by laughter and returned to my room. The ribbon of the lamp was immediately turned over by me.

The rear window glass clanged, and many small flying insects bumped around. Soon after, a few came in, probably from a hole in the enough paper. I bumped into the glass lampshade as soon as I came in. One crashed into it from above, so I met a fire. I thought the fire was real. Two or three of them leaned against the paper cover of the lamp and gasped. The cover was just changed last night. It is made of snow-white paper, folded with wavy lines and painted with a scarlet gardenia in one corner.

When the scarlet gardenia is in full bloom, the jujube tree will dream of a pink flower, which will bend into an arc luxuriantly ... I heard the laughter in the middle of the night again; I quickly cut off my thoughts and looked at the old caterpillar on the cover of white paper, with a big head and a small tail, as big as sunflower seeds, only half a grain of wheat, and the color of the whole body was lovely and pitiful.

I yawned, lit a cigarette, exhaled smoke, and silently paid tribute to these green and exquisite heroes in front of the lamp.

1September, 924 15.