Modern Times: Bing Xin
Mom, I have long wanted to write a poem for you.
But I wrote it many times, but I still didn't write it well.
Mom, I don't know how to start this poem written for you.
I don't know how to end it or what to write.
Just like when I was a child, I slapped you hard. I don't know whether to accept it bravely or choose to escape.
Mom, I thought of you again tonight, and I decided to write a poem for you.
Even if you write badly, even if you are far from home, you will never read it. ...
Mom, if you see a small white boat in your dream.
Don't be surprised that he dreamed for no reason. Your beloved daughter folded it with tears in her eyes.
Wan Shui Qian Shan begged him to take her love and sorrow home.
2. Homesickness
Modern: Yu Guangzhong
When I was a child, homesickness was a small stamp.
I'm here and my mother is there.
When I grow up, homesickness is a narrow ticket.
I'm here and the bride is there.
Later, homesickness became a temporary grave.
I'm outside and my mother is inside.
Now, homesickness is a shallow strait.
I am here and the mainland is there.
3. This life
Modern: Yu Guangzhong
My most forgetful cry is twice,
Once, at the beginning of my life,
Once, at the end of your life.
The first time, I don't remember,
I heard what you said,
The second time, you don't know.
It's no use telling me.
But between these two cries,
There is endless laughter,
Time and time again,
Reverberated for 30 years,
You know, I remember.
4. Oh, Mom
Author: Shu Ting
Your pale fingertips touch my temple,
I can't help it, just like when I was a child,
Hold on to your skirt.
Oh, mom,
In order to keep your aging figure,
Although the morning light cuts dreams into smoke,
I still dare not open my eyes for a long time.
I still cherish that bright red scarf,
Afraid that cleaning will make it,
Lose your unique warmth.
Oh, mom,
Isn't the running water of the years just as ruthless,
I'm afraid my memory will disappear,
How dare I open its screen easily?
I cried to you for a thorn.
Now with the crown of thorns,
I dare not,
I dare not moan.
Oh, mom,
I often look up at your photos sadly,
Even if the call can penetrate the loess.
How dare I disturb your sleep,
I dare not show the sacrifice of love like this.
Although I have written many songs,
For flowers, for the sea, for the dawn.
Oh, mom,
My sweet, soft and deep memory.
Not rapids, not waterfalls,
It's a dry well, and I can't sing in the shade of flowers and trees.
5. Golden Flower
Modern Tagore
If I become a golden flower,
For fun,
Growing on tall branches,
Swinging in the air with a grin,
Dancing on the new leaves again,
Mom,
Will you know me?
If you shout:
"son,
Where are you? "
I was snickering there,
Without a word.