The end of Tomb-Sweeping Day's composition, the first part

Thinking of this, I accidentally caught a glimpse of my father's gray temples oozing huge sweat under the scorching sun. At that moment, I was shocked at once. The next moment, I suddenly understood Bo Er's mood.

When we open the dusty memories in our minds, we will see that our father has propped up a growing sky for our children with his powerful arms, and under this sky, we will always be the children who have not grown up.

The end of Tomb-Sweeping Day's composition Part II

Sacrificing ancestors is a meaningful thing, which can remind our living relatives of their love and remember them forever.

The end of Tomb-Sweeping Day's composition Part III

On Qingming Day, all our classmates went to the Martyrs Cemetery to sweep graves, and the teacher told us many touching stories of martyrs. I was deeply moved by this. I know that our happy life today was bought by countless revolutionary martyrs with their blood and lives. In order to repay the revolutionary martyrs and cherish the beautiful today, I must study hard to review the cultural knowledge of various subjects, climb the peak of cultural science, and always be ready to contribute to the great cause of building and defending the motherland in the future.

Tomb-Sweeping Day's composition, the end of the fourth part

Qingming always gives people the feeling of rainy days. It seems that with this rain, Qingming can show a touch of sadness and nostalgia. It was Qingming that completed the rain, and it was the rain that set off Qingming. Watching the drizzle can arouse people's faint sadness and thoughts. This rain is either crazy rain or gentle drizzle. From early morning to dusk, in misty and rainy Shan Ye, there are always grave-sweepers walking again against the wind and rain, dotted with loneliness;

Or in groups of three or five, helping the elderly and carrying the young, or one or two lonely shadows, one person limping. The distant mountains are hidden in the clouds, the trees are caged in front of solitary smoke, the bridges are flowing, crows are crying sadly, the rain washes the clear autumn, and the wind blows sad, only to see misty rain, no one, no smoke. What a sad and lonely journey, what a sad and wandering picture. Occasionally, when I look up, the cemetery suddenly sees: hundreds of grave arches and thousands of monuments; 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 fluttering, the rain is falling, the grief is long, the sadness is mysterious, and there is no ecstasy. Where is the fragrance? Pull up a piece of grass, put down a few cups of cold wine and burn a handful of paper money. The wind and rain are terrible, the cups are full of sorrow, the weeds are full of smoke, and there is nothing to say, only the bottom of my heart is full of faint sorrow, faint sorrow! The dead are gone, and the living are always sad! The voice, face and smile are vivid in my mind, and all kinds of past events are still in my ears, but the guests are in a hurry and miss the lonely graves thousands of miles away.