Mom, can you brush off the frost that has turned gray on your temple with the hand of dead tree skin? I know that the bow of the red ribbon bleached the black hair that I remember for a long time. Mom, as if nothing had happened, you can still gently twist your loose teeth. Singing songs with fresh childhood memories, laughing and crying, memories are snakes of missing. Draw a word and move forward in a zigzag way. My mother, who has residual pain in this life, still licks my arrogant poison with this cracked tongue core. I will never grow up in front of you, so a vague topic called maternal love is undoubtedly a wanderer and the most stupid person who hurts his mother. You used to be as famous as chrysanthemum, and you are old. There are still some fragrant silk on the edge of the white porcelain bottle. I have brushed my love heart in sports, but I still can't hide your concern. The crazy autumn wind has begun. Even in the lonely shadow, mom, don't catch cold. No matter when and where, the sunset depends on a crutch called a child. You, the seeds covered with vegetation on fertile soil are sprouting and growing, and I, at this moment. I just want to hear you call my name. In a trance, mother, I seem to be back in the yard, the mother who pumped water by the well when I was a child.
-Mother's Day is dedicated to all mothers in the world.
Your silver hair, rickety body, lonely figure, you are old. You associate with the neighboring village, you are 80 years old, and you still draw water yourself. Cooking by yourself, you still cling to my childhood dream hometown. It is the pride of your life to support our four children and four children all your life. The pigeons you let go are the concern of your life. When you talk about being kind to people, the hope of survival is always on your face. How can a mother who has gone through so many hardships write thousands of words with a blunt pen? My mother is a beautiful mother. My mother is a big ship, carrying me to the sea to pursue the mystery of life. The magical mother of the world is a mountain with everything in it, which makes me strong. My physical and mental mother is a touching song, which takes me all over the country and sings the history of the motherland with her beautiful tunes. Mother is the spring breeze that blows everything in the world and brings vitality between steps. Mother is a spring rain, nourishing everything on the earth! Mom, I love you. You are my favorite forever. In my heart, there is a place that is unfathomable, but no one has ever asked. You are the fire of hope, illuminating my future and hope. Every dark night, I care about you. Every cold night, you give me endless warmth. It is raining in the sky, and every drop of rain is telling. Your pale fingertips touch my temple. I can't help holding on to your skirt like when I was a child. My mother tried to keep your disappearing figure. Although the morning light has cut my dream into smoke, I still dare not open my eyes for a long time. I still cherish that bright red scarf, for fear that washing it will make it lose your unique warmth. My mother's years are as ruthless as the running water, fearing that my memory will fade. How dare I open its screen easily? I cried to you for a thorn. Now I wear a watch and dare not moan. Mom, I often look up at your photos sadly. Even if I call for penetrating the loess, how dare I disturb your sleep? I dare not show the sacrifice of love like this. Although I wrote many songs for flowers, the sea and the dawn, my sweet and soft memory, mother, is not a torrent, not a waterfall, but a dry well that flowers and trees can't sing. My mother's life in a storm is like walking on a road with frequent storms, and my mother is at the forefront. Let some umbrellas protect the children from the wind and rain, and my mother pushed them to me. Ah, the child under the umbrella, the mother outside the umbrella, the rain is no longer rain, but a drop of happy tears that God gave to the world. Mom, the hard body can leave. People will never leave, just as we will never forget our ancestors and our mothers. Mother is the quilt on our body, without which we will feel cold. Mother is the salt in vegetables, and life would be dull without her. Mother must have her pain. Those lingering pains often hang on her face and are intertwined with the smile of looking at her children. Great maternal love picked a bunch of the brightest roses and pinned her mother's dearest words on her. Moms call me stupid. Roses are flowers that symbolize love. No, they are also flowers that children want to give to their mothers. Unfortunately, I haven't listened to my mother's childhood jokes for a long time, and I fell asleep before listening. My mother said, silly child, my mother can never finish what she wants to say to her child. Even if she sleeps in the grave, you will always be my concern. Mom, wuyeshu, I am sinking deeper and deeper into the world? Mother, the five-leaf tree of the world is full of poems. I am a child you forced to mature, wearing a light Tsing Yi. I am a handful of dirt, and you love every aspect of it. Tonight, you sit under the eaves of the country, gently wash your fingers and dream of an autumn leaf. Mother Kong, my son, I hope you are by the river thousands of miles away. Don't tell me that tears will prick my river! Tonight, the stars are shining, the serenade is melodious, and the mother's fingers are wrapped in the sanctity of youth. The pentaphyllum is full of poems as heavy as autumn. Her son stood on trembling hair. Don't get excited because of the flute blowing in my mouth ... Your life has touched my dream of walking with you. Autumn after autumn, I beat my horse under the tree.