This is a poem to commemorate the late elders: maternal love raises children like a mountain, and tries its best to cultivate people. Fortunately, I love my mother deeply, and I bow my head to thank Xie Haoen.
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2, when I am old, I often feel sad, and my hair is not all white clouds. I know that I am old, go to bed early in spring, and miss my mother every time I watch the sunset.
3, when the child is on his back, Qingming makeup is the most suitable. Don't complain to the east wind when your hair is weak.
4. I miss my parents through ups and downs. The son wants to raise and cure, and the tomb is dedicated to filial piety.