all the way

In Greek myths: Clytie who was a nymph fell in love with Helius (the god of the Sun), but he scorned her in favour of another girl called Leucothoe. In a fit of jealousy Clytie told the affair to Leucothoe's father, King Orchamus of Persia, who then buried his daughter alive as a punishment. Helius hated Clytie even more, and poor Clytie wasted away and became the sunflower, whose head turns to follow the course of the sun across the sky each day.
Therefore, sunflower tells about Homage and Devotion. "My eyes see only you!" is what sunflower claim to the world.
I can not control my love to sunflower. She is what a beauty with brilliant yellow to strong or vivid orange yellow, which looks like a smile face towards the sun. When I come across difficulties, I think of sunflower whose smile always creeps over my head. Compared to Clytie, my pain seems become slighter. I really want to be smile like sunflower and I am trying. If I would have done, my life could be more colorful.
Sunflower also is useful in our daily life. Its weeds taste nice; its oil costs little; and its shape contributes a lot to art. Americans love for two American Classics. Baseball and sunflower has merged to the point that many consider sunflower to be a baseball snack. In other parts of the world where soccer is the king of all sports, sunflower is considered the snack of choice. Also, in Korea, sunflowers are used in candy as well as other better-known uses.
When I was a little girl, I have come to a sunflower field where a large mount of golden face proclaimed their passions. They all are higher than me. It seemed like that I was in a group of beauties who kept smiling to me. I was moved by this kind of scenery which I have never seen. Therefore it became a wish that one day I will find a place where a miles and miles sunflowers are there and I will draw the picture of them. Today when traveling through much of the North American Heartland we cannot help but notice the beautiful fields of bright yellow sunflowers. It is easy to imagine how such bright beauties could be attributed to God.
."Give fools their gold and knaves their power. Let fortune's bubbles rise and fall.Who sows a field or trains a flower or plants a tree, is more than all." John Greenleaf Whittier wrote as his poet. Sunflower gives them fortune, and it gives me love. Oh my flower, I would like to intonate with passion:
“Sunflowers for You
You make me warm
And all aglow
When I am cold
you melt my snow
Please stay with me
Through all my hours
I'll give to youa sunflower
For me, your heart
And a sky of blue
And all I bring?
Sunflowers for you.”

I have been in Singapore for more than half year. What homesick is in my mind is very clear now.
It’s the welling up tears in my eyes, the lump in my throat, the waving hands when the plane is taking off from the airport. It’s the unpleasant feeling when I see my parents looking at me with tears; it’s the strength with witch I am willing to walk a long time with heavy bags to home and it’s the halt, excitement, and hesitation at the doorstep when leaving.
It’s the impatience, anxiety, misery, fear, and wild guesses when I am waiting for an e mail from home. It is the never fading joy of reading it again and again. It’s the eagerness to call home though I paid a lot for tel.
It’s the unusual patience and indomitable willpower with witch I go to the ticket office at midnight and wait for a long time even there is no seat, and it’s the ecstasy when I at least get a ticket at 10 o’clock the next morning.
It’s the sudden delight that strikes me when I meet a person from the same town, or even a stranger who has just been there. It is the eagerness to ask about everything in our hometown, the trees, the hills, the water, and our dear old folks. Even at the sight of a house or a tree that looks like the one in the hometown, my eyes moisten. It is the sparking eyes when I come across a few words and pictures about my hometown in one corner of a newspaper. It’s the disappointment when I try my hometown’s food in Singapore but find it changed a lot.
It is the fear to sing “home, sweet home” in case of a burst of tears. It is the murmurs of “mummy” in dreams. It is the mere thought of the hotpot which makes my mouth water.
It’s the unspeakable sadness that creeps over me when I stand alone in the darkening dusk and see birds flying back to their nests and every body hurrying home. It’s a lonely feeling when festivals come and that’s time for family getting together. It is the silent sigh and faint pain in my heart when I begin reading the story, “that spring forty years ago, I waved farewell to my village and my dear mother…”
Shortly speaking, only a person far away from home knows what homesick is. So warm a word is home, and such a sweet sadness is homesickness