What kind of love is thick and deep; what kind of love is slender and profound. What love is like spring water and Mount Tai; what love is like the sky and the sea.
The weather-beaten years have left traces on my father’s broad and warm palms. The wounds and rough lines on his hands are as endless as the mountains. Aging has shocked the fragility of my soul. That spiritual pillar, I hope will never be eclipsed.
I am the daughter of Mount Tai, inheriting solidity and simplicity. Naturally, without the attractive roses, I still bloom with the depth of winter plums; I am flowing with the blood of the sea, and I live a life without regrets with warmth and warmth. Nature lacks the wings to fly to the sky, but still walks on the solid soil.
You are my leash, and I am your kite. You pull me to fly higher and farther. I saw how the river surged and the mountains were continuous. I also saw a bay of water of life flowing through the four seasons, spring and autumn, and the changes of time under your guidance. Looking back, I see your face is covered with sweat, but you are tireless. Your stingy gaze crashed into my silent tears, and fell inadvertently on the invisible experience. Dad, please bring me back. I will still be your lover in my previous life.
The fragrant grass in the setting sun will always be cool on the moon bridge with flying clouds. A loving father and a filial daughter will always make life a different kind of distant dream. Some memories, like the sunshine after the rain, are half moist and half brilliant. Even if the breeze blows in different directions, they are still inseparable from your generous square. Write a poem to sing you into my daughter's heart, let my stubbornness be written into your past, and the majestic green bloom into the fragrance of jasmine.
Memory is quiet and deep, and even the dust of the years cannot obscure the true clarity. Dreams are sometimes scary. No matter how strong a person is, they will be fragile in dreams. Stories are born out of life, and when they become unforgettable and become eternal, the story begins.
I once had a dream. In the dream, I went home once and my father passed away. My crying woke up my colleagues. My colleagues comforted me. The dream was the opposite. I tried my best to believe it. . A few days later, my father had a car accident. This time it was not a dream, because the blood from my bitten finger gave me reality. When I rushed to the hospital, my father was wearing an oxygen tank and his face was so swollen that I couldn’t even recognize him.
Although my father survived due to the timely rescue, the reality inside and outside the dream made me feel like a river of tobacco, like a crow flying over the vast sky. I don’t want to worry about watching the dusty fragrance in the dusk, and I don’t want to sigh at the insignificance of a grain in the ocean. I just want that peaceful support, to warm it into my embrace, and to be a cotton-padded jacket that doesn’t want to change. Or a weak and pretentious grass, lying gracefully on Dad's chest.
Childhood is like a dust-free stream, always so warm and clean. Dad is like a big stone in the water, firm and kind. When I was a child, my family was very poor, and even having a full meal would worry my father. Once when I came home from hard work, my father took out an apple that was rewarded by the boss, cut it into several squares with a knife, and gave each person a piece, enjoying it. Dad is as honest as a big fool at home and doesn't know how to be selfish at all. If you were a little more selfish, maybe I would be happier.
The house built with dad’s sweat still exudes the warmth of happiness without the touch of the sun. Every tile and brick seems to bear witness to dad’s wisdom and strength. . Those days of building bricks lasted for seven years. I grew from a child to a girl, and witnessed with my own eyes the transformation of my father from handsome to shaky. His wrinkled face may be a little more handsome than before, because he smiled and became a model in the village. He let his children wear beautiful clothes and go to schools in the city. I know that for a father, hard work will never be as good as his daughter's happy growth. The big waves are just a grain in the ocean, and some hardships are nothing more than that in the face of happiness.
There is a residual scar on my face. Although it is not obvious, it is very real. He was seriously injured when he fell from the back of a cow when he was young. At that time, there was no hospital, roads, or cars in the village. My father carried me on his back and rode his bicycle for dozens of miles on muddy roads before arriving at Nanbei Town Hospital for treatment. I seem to have forgotten whether it was sweat or tears that fell on my father's face, but I remember that the unhealed marks on my face made my father silent for a long time.
Although I have had low self-esteem, in front of my father, these are not important. What is important is that he will blame himself and feel sad for any small scar on me. Who said that a man is the last hope of parents? If anyone marries me, he will have to be the shadow in the snow, like a father for me to respect and never abandon.
Dad, my daughter has grown up. I am not the water you threw away, but the home you settled in. From then on, the drizzle and breeze are all my concerns. The world is vast, and there is always a hometown in and out of dreams. The moon shadow leaves the morning dew, and the morning glory still eats the dew grass. The dewdrops on the jasmine flowers are round and bright. I know they are your eyes, with silent sadness.
You are a ray of light, no matter how dark the night is, you will illuminate my confused direction.
You are a big tree. No matter how strong the wind or rain is, you will use your body to protect my peace.
You are an old song. No matter how many troubles I have, it will heal my secret sadness.
You are a star in the night. No matter how far I wander, you will always be the beacon that guides my life.
As my daughter grows up, your eyes are getting farther and farther away, but my concern is getting closer and closer.
Beauty will always change itself, and with each passing year, my hair will turn gray. I am not afraid of more hardships as I age, but I am afraid that your life will become more and more lonely. Even though I know that a person's life will always be judged by time, I can't help thinking about you so far. It turns out that I will extend your love for me to thousands of years.
Some words from the heart will always brew in the soul for a long time before they know how to express them, can make people sad, and can be as plain as water but as sweet as tea. Some words, just a few words, seem to never be finished. Some feelings are so simple, but they become more and more densely woven like mulberry and hemp. Perhaps father's love is like tea, you only need to taste it and you will understand it without words.
The world is impermanent, success or failure is inevitable, time flies, and the years change. Time seems to be invisibly verifying increases, decreases and changes, and our lives also seem to be leaving traces of cumin. The deep meaning of happiness, the pure land of the soul, may only be the accumulation and peace of father's love and mother's kindness.
As a child, what is the most important filial piety? Learn what your father does, do what your mother taught you, know how to be at peace with yourself, with a grateful heart, think about it, step on the moon shadow, talk and laugh about family matters Cherish.
Our lives are not given by God. The moment we come to the world, we will be inseparable from these two great men. The mountains welcome another spring, and every drop of water is full of love. The love of a drop of water cannot repay the kindness of a spring.