我最喜歡的一首詩

　　"Weeding day in the middle of the afternoon, sweat dripping under the soil, who knows that the plate of Chinese food, grains are hard." Whenever I read this ancient poem, I think of the white rice and the hard sweat of the farmer.

　　Last summer vacation, my father and I went back to our hometown. I harvested rice in my grandmother's house and experienced the hard and happy working life of the farmers.

　　Every morning, just before dawn, all the adults and children in the village get up. They hurried to the golden rice field reflected by the morning sun, and began to work hard. All of a sudden, the sound of "brush" in sickle and cutter Valley, the sound of "buzzing" in pedal type take-off machine, the sound of adults occasionally talking and laughing, the sound of children's crisp songs, and the sound of birds "chirping" are merged into a moving symphony. I am intoxicated with the beauty and music.

　　Although the cool wind was slow, the busy farmers soon sweated. They didn't care to wipe their sweat, but they still worked tirelessly. Children about my age, even younger than me, gather rice in the fields. I also joined them and became their friend.

　　The sun climbed on top of his head and baked the rice fields. The people were all wet. The adults called the children back, but they still insisted on working. A load of yellow rice was carried to the drying field, and the shoulders were bent. The sound of "cheeky" also seems to read "weeding day at noon, sweat dripping under the soil, who knows that the plate of Chinese food, grains are hard"!

　　Under the sun, the farmer worked hard to hoe the grain. He exclaimed that the grain was hard to come by, and indirectly told people to treasure it.

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