Poetry about praising father 1 as white as snow.
That is the flower that has fallen from the vicissitudes of time.
A bent body is a bow.
That's the energy stored by the old man of time
Hands are like wood.
That is the fruit that Shennong has given us for continuous harvest.
Eyes like yellow beads.
That is a colorful color given by God.
The tentacles of the years are crawling all over the forehead.
The river of time flows through blood vessels.
Through snow and blood red
We are growing.
It snows heavily.
You are the last piece in the snow.
Mottled red leaves
Life will run out.
You are the last star in the sky.
Tears of a meteor
Poems in praise of father II. Father is a river, flowing with years and telling the vicissitudes of the world;
Father is the sea, holding up the sun and flying the wings of the sky;
Father is a mountain with a strong backbone and the fragrance of earth;
Father's love is like a mountain, deep and powerful, shielding me from the wind and rain;
Father's love is like water, silent and gentle, smoothing my inner wounds;
Father's love is like the sun, warm and brilliant, illuminating the darkest corner of my heart for me;
Father's love is like the moon, ignorant and elegant, which can give me hope even in the most cloudy days.
Father's love is like a song, melodious and heavy, which gives me the motivation to live;
Father's love is like the sea, broad and magnanimous, which contains countless mistakes of mine.
Poems in praise of father 3 hazy time
father
This is a big mountain.
Sit on his shoulder
Can always see far, far away.
Be rational
father
This is a stubborn bent pine tree.
Only then did I find out.
My weight is too heavy, too heavy.
But now
father
You are a profound poem.
My son reads silently.
Tears flow gently
Poetry 4 about praising father has just been known for a whole month.
Father is a concept.
This is the lighting term of black land and black forest.
Small eyes looking at the big man.
I use the most primitive crying
Warm his upper and lower limbs.
Those days when the rain stopped.
Childhood, I took your hand into the school.
You lifted the iron hoe of the world.
Dig a face for me
The sky is bigger than the village.
Father, I am your most complete stone.
Father, you are my perfect shadow.
It's getting dark I live in a book.
It's dark. You live in the mountains.
Father, these ten years
We have never met.
I went home that day.
You're still saying that the mountain people live a strong life.
You are not old. This is a mountain.
Now I have grown into a big tree.
You have no root in your hand.
Father's waterwheel and fence
Are you still silent in the moonlight?
Still staying at our door.
Where I ran away from home
Those polished stone chips.
Rotating iron ring
Do you all have your own homes?
Tonight's father
I am another wheat.
Become another wheat.
It is the deep deformation of bread and steamed bread.
I don't want to go home by windmill tonight.
I want to fly along the maturity of May.
Father, who are you tonight
My nails and my old house will never rust.
The only pain I can't shut up for thousands of years
Poems praising father. A blue sky is in the distance.
A mysterious castle peak.
A quiet and deep vast land
Energetic people
This is a good opportunity for people to live in harmony with nature.
The ridge in Tanaka is a beautiful stick.
Grains dancing in the wind are jumping notes.
Nine winding mountain roads are the strings of this world.
It was the light footsteps of fathers that moved it.
What pops up is the swan song of life.
Sweat flows in the canal dug by years.
Arouse a wave of development
Prominent blue veins are made up of strength. the Great Wall
Gong Yu's spirit of moving mountains extends from here.
Moonlight moistens this quiet night.
The running water in front of the house took away all the fatigue.
I felt peace in my snoring.
I also felt the light of white hair in the mirror.
Poetry about praising your father 6 Your hair is white and snowy.
Your body is bent. This is a bow.
That snowflake is the flower that vicissitudes shed for you.
That bow is the strength that time old man saved for you.
Your hands are slow. This is a seeder.
Your eyes are used to take pictures.
That seeder is the fruit that Shennong keeps harvesting for you.
The camera is a colorful world given to you by God.
When the tentacles of time climb over your forehead
I grew up in your white hair
When the river of time flows through your veins
I'm growing through your whole body.
When it snowed, who made the last red leaf?
At the end of life, who wants to leave you a look?