the song of the homeless
Tang Mengjiao
The mother used the needle and thread in her hand to make clothes for her long-distance son.
Before leaving, I had a stitch for fear that my son would come back late and his clothes would be damaged.
Grass can't repay the kindness of warm sun.
There is a biting cold wind outside. In a shabby hut, an old man in his sixties is sitting on the kang to prepare a long trip for his son. The loving mother sat in the dim light, sewing clothes for her son Meng Jiao. Holding the needle in her left hand and the thread in her right hand, she slowly passed through the eye of the needle, tied a knot and sewed it carefully. This needle and thread contains the mother's concern and worry about her son. She is worried that her son won't be home for a long time. My family is too poor to buy silks and satins for my son, only coarse clothes and linen. "son! You should be careful everywhere outside, get along well with others, and often write home to reassure your mother! " Say that finish, choked up, at this point, tears involuntarily fell down. Meng Jiao put down the book, looked at his loving mother and nodded deeply. At this time, he was full of thoughts and even decided to stay at home with his mother, but he couldn't let her down. In order to repay her, he had to make a name for himself. He remembered the difficulty of going to school as a child and his mother's hard work. When I was a child, Meng Jiao's family was very poor and had no money to send him to school. He also knows that it is not easy to understand his mother. Much as he wants to go, he doesn't want to burden his mother. The cautious mother finally realized that in order to let her son go to school early, she worked hard to weave and work hard every day. Finally, the mother gave some money to her son. The son was shocked, and the mother only said, "Take it!" "Meng Jiao knew that money didn't come easily, so he studied hard ... Now, he can go abroad to study. No one can understand the excitement in his heart and his concern for his mother. Tomorrow, he will leave, leave his loving mother, leave this shabby hut, and leave his hometown where he was born and raised. He can't say what he doesn't want. He can't do anything for his mother. He can only say that he will miss it forever and study hard outside. He can't help singing a poem in his heart: the thread in the hand of a kind-hearted mother makes clothes for her wayward boy's body. Before leaving, I had a stitch for fear that my son would come back late and his clothes would be damaged. Who can say that a filial child like the weak can repay his mother's love like the sunshine in spring? Outside, the biting wind is still blowing, but this small room is full of warm spring.