An ancient poem to express gratitude to mother is as follows:
1. When the world is in chaos, I pity the young Qu, but when the family is poor, I look up to my mother for her kindness. The deer gate cannot be carried, and the goose foot is in trouble. -- "Qianxing" by Du Fu of the Tang Dynasty.
Translation:
The world is not peaceful. Poor Ji Zi is still a child. His family is poor and he relies on your mother to take care of everything. We were unable to evacuate with our whole family, and we didn’t know when we would be able to communicate with each other.
2. The thread in a loving mother’s hand, the clothes on a wanderer’s body. Before leaving, I was afraid of returning late. Whoever speaks of an inch of grass will be rewarded with three rays of spring light. -- "Wandering Son's Song" by Mengjiao of the Tang Dynasty.
Translation:
The loving mother used the needle and thread in her hands to make clothes for her son who was traveling far away. Before leaving, I sewed it stitch by stitch, fearing that my son would come back late and the clothes would be damaged. Who dares to say that children with a filial piety as weak as Xiaocao can repay the kindness of a loving mother like Chunhui Puze?
3. The love for your son is endless, and you will be happy to return home. The cold clothes are densely stitched, and the letters home are freshly inked. When we meet, we feel pity for the thin man, and call him to ask about his hardships. He wanders lowly, not daring to sigh about the wind and dust. --Qing Dynasty: Jiang Shiquan's "Returning Home at the End of the Year".
Translation:
My love for my son is endless, and the happiest thing is that the wanderer returns in time. The stitches used to sew the winter clothes are densely packed, and the black marks on the handwriting in the family letter are as fresh as new. My mother feels distressed when she sees her son in pain, calling me to ask me about the hardships of the journey. Mother, my son is already ashamed of you and will not have the heart to tell you about the troubles he suffered while living abroad.
4. The frost wipes out the reed flowers and wets the clothes with tears, and the old man no longer leans on the firewood leaf. During the yellow plum rain last May, Zeng Dian returned home from shopping for rice. --Song Dynasty: Yu Gong's "Thinking of My Mother".
Translation:
How many times have I sat under the flowers and played the flute, but the red wall of the Milky Way seems so far away to me. The stars in front of me are no longer the stars of last night. For whom did I stand in the wind and dew all night? The lingering feelings are like silkworm cocoons, and the wandering heart is like a peeled banana. Recalling the scene of the full moon night when she was 15 years old, I lamented that the glass of wine in my hand could no longer eliminate the sadness in my heart.