A poem reflecting the relationship between father and son

"Guanciwu Feeding Back" Fatherly Love Times: Song Author: He Menggui has a bird named Ciwu, and those children are dumb and scrambling to shout. Feathers are just brainstorming and feedback, in order to repay the kindness of parents. The Yi people have long lost their sense of justice, and it is an honor to hear that. Birds and insects know what is righteousness, and filial piety lies in it. The young owl was divided into two parts, and the young shrike lost its meat. There is no cruelty in heaven and earth, and there is no disparity between good and evil. Second, martial arts, dutiful son in birds, rebellious son in the world. Parents love children very much, and children's hearts can be like parents. Who is really empty in life is a long cry of the sensible class. It's not enough to have the sun. Lao Wu holds the young tree at night. The years when "father" was built by wind and rain are engraved on his forehead, which profoundly outlines the wisdom and significance of life. My father's grace is gone, and his traces of death are covered with dead leaves and lush grass. Why are the years so hasty? I remember that evening, my father loved my father, holding my little hand to watch the sunset and dyed the sky red, as if my father was expecting a dream of mine. I guiltily dare not look straight into my father's big eyes. Clouds are like my father's deep love for me. I want to cry happily. When I was a child, my father always told me that I was a big tree. You are a small tree. Now Xiaoshu wants to say to Dad: You will always be my big tree. There is an emotion in fatherly love. It would be inaccurate to say it easily. There is a language that is easy to say. It's ordinary and extraordinary. It's drunk. This is the most painful place. When my father's eyes touched my forehead, the gap and distance between father's love were meaningless nouns. Incredibly, when you are coldest, blood is still the warmest. When I held my father, he was a big mountain. Sitting on his shoulder, I can always see the distance. When he is sensible, his father is a stubborn bent pine. Only then did I realize my weight was so heavy. So heavy, now, father, you are a profound poem. The son silently read tears, gently flowing his father's blue sky, a mysterious green hill, and a quiet and profound vast land. Father loves all beings, and how harmonious man and nature are. The ridge in Tanaka is a beautiful staff, the grains dancing with the wind are jumping notes, and Jiuqu Mountain Road is the string of heaven and earth. That is the light footsteps of fathers, but it is life. Fresh swan song sweat surges in the canal dug by the years, stirring the waves of development. The blue veins are the Great Wall built by strength. Gong Yu's spirit of moving mountains extends from here. Moonlight nourishes this quiet night. The running water in front of the house took away all the fatigue. I feel peace in snoring, and I feel the light of white hair in the mirror. Recalling my father's love for us is different from my father's love for us. Our love is a stream. Fatherly love is the dew on the unstable grass in the sea. Round and bright, that's the light from the sun. The days in April are half brilliant and half brilliant. That's where the spring breeze passes. Our happiness is a smile on our father's face. Our pain is a deep sadness in our father's eyes. Our love can go far and far, but we can never leave the square in our father's heart.