Homeland is a small boat
                                   Brandishing peaceful riparian countries
Every time I go far away, the first image that I remember is the home river.
I also don't know where my native river comes from. I also don't know who named it the Red River. Only know that when flowing through my hometown, the river is really smooth and gentle. The clear river water illuminates the rows of bamboos along the river, carrying the leaves of bamboo to bid farewell to the mother to start an adventure full of adventure. The river danced a few days to change clothes. In the morning, the river wears a cool blue shirt. In the late evening, the river wore a sparkling gold inlaid shirt. The two banks of the river have long grass that looks like giant pads. On cool afternoons, my friends and my neighbors would come here to play, sometimes we would lie on that cushion to see the sky so high and then look at the water in the sky. At such times we feel extremely relaxed. We sing, tell each other stories in class, at home, even the stories we have just composed. Those were fun, wonderful afternoon. Occasional cool breezes make us seem to hear the whole conversation of the river.

The Red River flows through my village, so the villagers don't have to worry about drought all the time. The villagers dug ditches from the river bank to the fields. The river water was pumped up by the very strong pumps into the field, watering the vast field. My hometown every year two or three lush trees. But for us, the most interesting thing is the "resort" in the heart of that river. In the afternoon, we often take the buffalo here, graze on the banks of the river and we jump into the cool water. We frolicked and laughed, stirring up an entire river. And I don't know since when, the river and I became the intimate couple. When I was sad, I went to the river and confided to the river, the river understood my heart, and quietly took my sadness along the river to the sea. At times when I was happy, I went to the river, the river seemed to play with me, the small waves of water pours the shore.

Every day, the river took me to school, the road from my house to the school walked on the zigzag dike on the banks of the river. Kia is a ferry that everyday people from my hometown do business, markets hammer. This is a wharf the mothers or sisters often come here to wash. Rice trees stand tall on the wharf to drain the boats to dock this season. Everywhere is so dear! Looking at the small fishing boats floating on the river, I feel the peaceful atmosphere of my homeland is lovely.

Although time has passed, although the river water has returned to the sea, the image of my home river and the river named Hong is still intact in my mind. The river has kept the memories of my childhood. The river of my country will never run out like my love with the river will never run out.

My hometown has the Bac Hung Hai river, every time I go far away I want to come back to this place. Viewed from above, the river is like a long, winding, gentle fabric. The river is opaque brown, carrying heavy silt to irrigate the field. On both sides of the river are two rows of green trees, shady. In the distance is the house, village hidden behind the trees. In the early morning, when the sun began to stir after the clouds, the two rows of trees were still covered in the morning dew, the grass below was covered with night dew, the river began to flow smoothly. As the sun shone, the birds on the branches began to chatter, signaling a new day. People also appear immersed in daily life. At noon came the river back with a rare tranquility. Dazzling sunlight shone down on the riverbed as if it had been spread out with silver. Standing from among the shade of shady trees looked really a bit blinding. Where the wind blows from each tree, the blade of grass brings breath to the river. In the afternoon, the whole river is bustling with daily activities of people. A few boats on the river back and forth dragged along several wings. At night until night falls, the river returns to its usual solitude. Only the sound of the flute in the night can be heard as the song of a song that loves life more after a hard day.