The poor inherit the wind
(Qing) Cixi
Parents are the most authentic in the world, and tears and blood are dissolved into children.
Exhausted heart will eventually become a child, and the poor will bear the wind!
Children can't understand their parents' pains, and sometimes even misunderstand their parents' pains. And parents still take care of their children without hesitation, which leads to: poor family!
Extended data
Poems about parents:
1. "Accustomed to the long night in spring"?
Modern Times: Lu Xun?
It is a custom for young women to have silk on their temples on long nights in spring. ?
In my dream, I vaguely shed tears for my mother, and the flag of the king on the city head changed. ?
Endure watching peers become new ghosts, and look for small poems in anger. ?
There is no place to write, and the moonlight is like water.
Accustomed to spending spring in the long night, my temples are gray and I am forced to leave with my wife and children. In my sleep, I seem to see my kind mother crying for me, and the flags of warlords over the city are still changing.
How can I bear to watch young comrades-in-arms being killed by the enemy, and write poems angrily to mourn that white horrible knife? After chanting, I looked down at the place around me but didn't write (can't publish). Only Leng Yue took care of me, a refugee in a black robe.
Second, "Xuan Mo No.1"?
Yuan Dynasty: Wang Mian?
Brilliant day lily flowers, Luosheng North Hall. ?
The south wind blows the heart, for whom do you vomit? ?
A loving mother leans against the door, but a wanderer cannot walk. ?
May the sun be sparse and the day be fearful. ?
Looking up at Yunlin, I am ashamed to listen to birds.
Bright day lilies are born under the North Hall. The south wind blows the day lily, swaying for whom to confide fragrance? A kind mother leaned against the door, expecting her child. It's hard for a wanderer to travel far away! The support for parents is alienated every day, and the news of children is not reached every day. Looking up at a cloud forest, I am ashamed to hear the sound of the birds, and I still miss it.