I hate this most at all times, and I am interested in throwing it away.
My mother has a high wind and advocates fraternity.
The distance is near and far, and it is repetitive.
Kay was moved by her kindness.
Love is sincere.
The depth of parenting and the brilliance of spring.
When will it be reported? Beautiful birds are in the sea.
One day, everyone will repay the kindness.
One day, you will be with your relatives.
It was a dusk,
The sunset glow dyed the intoxicating charm on the other side of the mountain,
Then,
Starry eyes twinkle in the blue night sky,
The warm spring breeze at night brings waves of touching fragrance,
So,
Her smiling face will accompany us into a sweet dream;
It's a dawn,
The cool morning breeze blew into the warm bed,
Warm hands touch our backs,
Faces engraved with vicissitudes of life touch our tender shoulders,
So,
We woke up from our dreams in her gentle call,
Walk into the turbulent years of youth;
Uneasy heartstrings are waiting for her to bounce,
Confused thoughts are waiting for her to sort out,
Full of depression, waiting for her smile to disappear,
This love, this caress, this concern ...
How can you be speechless when you love her?
Please express your love buried in your heart,
Please remember you and show her your love. ...
(1) My kind, thin and old mother, I don't call her "mom" in the cold. I have taken off my winter clothes and slept naked in your arms. Every tear has been cut and sewn, which makes me soak a big red candle from my eyes. In the storm, I will let a life bloom in the flame and pray silently for my flesh and blood life. Can you hear my crying from ancient times to the present? A crumpled nest is a simple bag. So much rain and dew soaked with milk filled my morning earth. I started to go my own way.
(2) A mother who lives on water, a mother who uses milk as water, a river in your hand, an ancient ship that cleans my heart. My blind eyes spewed flames, paddled the sun and rolled steel. In my dream, I made a pair of pearls, which lit up me like stars and cast a blue bridge. From then on, my back arched into the rainbow water of my soul. After standing, I sang, lay down, cut the wound of that day and left blood. A poet with milk as his pen and ink, who has no specific home, sits in the clouds and sings for my mother.
Countless turns, I looked through my mother's eyes.
Peel yourself off bit by bit. I like my old life.
And mother's flesh and blood, with a pair of scissors.
This voice above fate: great troubles and happiness given by God.
A woman, how light and heavy she is.
Mom. I put these two words in my heart, as if they contained.
A bleeding wound. A shabby house in the wound.
I always open the west window for you and put your eyes
Hanging in the pale sunset
I took your last fruit from the branch.
Get your dawn from the dark. who is it?
Take me away from you. So you can't catch it
Empty heart. But you don't cry.
Because you're alive. Because you are the mother. A woman
I hope the years can put you down gently. Like white hair
Put down the black weight. Just like you gave up on me—
Let me go, but you can't take me away from your blood.
The birthmark engraved on me is you.
The address where I live.