Poetic composition in the days 1 Moonlight, like sand, falls on my knees and is ethereal. Leave warm traces, such as flowers, brocade, dreams and illusions. Poetic ripples ...
Text is a room, punctuation is a window, and mottled sunlight passes through the window. This is the world of poetry.
I often read the temperature of words here. "Since ancient times, no one has died in life, leaving Dan's heart to shine." The words are warm and the bones are clanking; "When the moon is cool and the night is quiet, I will return to the rock." The text is cool; "Zhumen wine stinks, and the road has frozen bones." The words are cold and shocking. Here, I saw the ups and downs of history, the changes of the times, scholars with a bun in the pavilion and a small fan rocking gently, scholars with pen and ink, elegant robes and clothes. Here is the heroic spirit of serving the country wholeheartedly and sacrificing one's life for righteousness; There are also resentful people who have no way to serve the country, and their ambitions are hard to pay. Here is the pride and carefree life in the legendary swordsman; There are also frustrations and sorrows, as well as the helplessness of drinking as a song. There are returnees Cai Wenji and hermit Tao Yuanming ... Oh! Poetry is in the study.
It is not as gorgeous as a hundred flowers, nor as comfortable as a breeze. It is not as sultry as the autumn wind, nor as warm as the sun. It is like a hermit from the depths, just like the green in front of me. It is deeply rooted, it has the praise of "indomitable, vertical and horizontal, east and west, north and south", and it has the reputation of "three friends in the cold" It is like a hermit, mysterious and cold. There seems to be a ... oh! Poetry is in the bamboo forest.
Romantic sunshine is embedded in the corner of the stream, and a clear stream flows from the hazy ancient road to the depths. I asked where this canal leads, which is the place leading to the soul. When all is silent, the heart seems to have only thoughts left. What are you thinking about? Are you thinking, "What you get on paper is always shallow"? Are you thinking about where to go from asking where the canal is so clear? Is it like taking a sip of green tea, or is it like a floating mist? Finally, as if the clouds were parted, I suddenly realized, oh! Poetry is in my heart.
Moonlight flows away like running water, warm and charming, romantic and warm. Small bridges and flowing water make people poetic everywhere.
Poetry in the days. It's everywhere.
Behind the courtyard of my hometown, there is a winding and unremarkable path, which is nothing special, but it is precisely the charm contained in the winding path. Around the path, there are mostly poplars and some maples. Near the late autumn, the leaves are golden or fiery red, scattered on the ground, covered with a gold and red carpet. This picture, for others, may be boring; For me, it is full of poetry.
The sweet-scented osmanthus tree that has not withered in the yard exudes its fragrance on this quiet path. When the breeze blows, the faint fragrance suddenly becomes rich, which makes people fall for it and admire the refreshing fragrance.
I whistled and walked lazily on this carpet. Get up early in the morning, the frost on the roadside grass has not disappeared. Under the reflection of morning light, there is a faint silver light. And the red maple tree next to it, under the background and washing of frost, has a unique flavor.
I stepped forward gently and brushed away the thin layer of frost carefully. It suddenly occurred to Du Mu's poem: "Stop and sit in the maple forest late, and the frost leaves are red in February", which is really good.
The red leaves that I brushed off the frosted flowers are red and spotless, like a bright mirror under the sunshine.
The fallen leaves at the foot seem to be endless, which makes people daydream. I wandered aimlessly and suddenly remembered that there seemed to be a stream here.
I haven't been to this stream for years. Last time I went, I went with my friends. At that time, several boys were frolicking there and having a good time. Look at the red leaves floating on the water. Occasionally there are a few subtle or deep or shallow ripples. I stare blankly for a moment, suddenly laughed softly.
Poetry is everywhere. Some people only pursue the poetry of "the mountains and birds are alive here, and people's hearts touch the pool" and the picture of "the pine forest has moonlight and the stream has crystal stone", but they often ignore the most ordinary and beautiful poetry. Like this ordinary and unremarkable path, countless people have passed by. However, how many people really find it poetic?
On the third day of poetry creation, warm memories were cut out and time became antique.
The breeze gently brushed a fragrance. I lowered my eyes and sniffed, and a familiar feeling lingered in my heart. That's your favorite smell, and it's twisted into a bunch, which gradually wakes me up.
At that time, there were you, me and endless poetry.
You always like to sit under this tree with me all afternoon. Look at the afterglow of the sunset and listen to the night breeze blowing loudly. Holding a falling pear and stroking it gently at your fingertips. The elegant pear fragrance also gives you a thick calluses. In my memory, I always like to let you hold me and smell the fragrance of that branch. Grandma, you always pretend to be serious: "no, my lovely granddaughter, grandma has a bad waist." At that time, I was ignorant and stubborn, and I insisted on your hug. When you saw me like this, you smiled helplessly and scolded "Hey, you child". It was really helpless. You always say this half sentence, and you never finish it. Pears have fallen, dotted with my childhood and that warm memory.
Later, I learned that this memory is warm with you, and this day with you contains endless poetry.
At that time, there were you, me and endless poems and moonlight.
When night comes, you also love to take me to sit under the pear tree. The summer night is very quiet, only the insects and your buzz are heard. For a long time, it floated into my heart. The bright moonlight slowly pours down like a clear spring and falls easily in your hair. White is dazzling, white is bright, so I can't tell whether it is white hair or moonlight, and the moon can't tell whether it is moonlight or white hair. You just hold me, sing in a low voice and sometimes pat me gently. The moonlight was cut into pieces through the branches, mottling the beauty of the land, and the thin shadow quietly sideways beside you and me. At that time, the years were quiet and the love you gave me was just right.
Time can also sing, it gradually sings the joys and sorrows, and sings the prosperity of memory. But what I can't erase is the tenderness and poetry you gave me in those days.
The poetic time softened the years and amazed them. Just because there are you and me in it. It is also full of rhythm and will remain in my heart forever.
After the rain, thin smoke enveloped the world. Walking slowly along the path, opening your fingers, catching a drop of water and rolling it down, let the coolness seep through your fingers and smile, which is just a poem in ordinary days.
Accustomed to the fleeting life, the loss of grades makes me feel bitter. When I came to the countryside, it coincided with a drizzle, which naturally made me intoxicated. The crystal beads of rain rolled down from the tip of the blade, and the clear water and blue sky in the distance merged into one, just like the spreading and rendering of the wind. Shallow fragrance, deep poetry ...
Walking on the moss path, the cyan between the slates spread before my eyes, and my fingertips crossed the uneven wall. I have always liked the scenery after the rain, especially the silver lake water and the distant mountains, which always remind me of the phrase "the water is bright and sunny, the mountains are cloudy and rainy" and make me feel like I am in a fairyland.
When you come to the flowing water of the small bridge, the mottled bridge deck also has a mysterious aesthetic feeling, ancient and soft. Close your eyes, the water is jingling, and the natural melody is in your ear and jumping in your heart. Leaning on the handrail of the bridge, listening quietly, this sound belongs only to nature ... its beautiful moment is refreshing.
Passing by a few dogs barking, I suddenly met Qingshan, which is not high, but it is still foggy and beautiful. My heart is full of joy, ha, isn't this Tao Yuanming's artistic conception of "picking chrysanthemums under the east fence and seeing Nanshan leisurely"
Wrapped in a few strands of flowers, I walked happily to the mountain path with a little joy. The scenery along the way is picturesque, the shrubs are like candles, the eyes are like water, and the eyebrows are like smoke. On the way, the pavilion became red, so I couldn't help following it. It began to rain in Mao Mao, adding a hazy mystery to the scenery below. Standing in the small pavilion, the cool breeze blows slightly and the skirt rises slightly. Smoke curled up at the foot of the mountain, the clear water trembled slightly, like an ink painting, and the subtle poetic beauty condensed in my heart.
A little stubborn, walked down the stone steps and let Xiaoyu wash her heart and clean up the dust. In addition to coolness, faint smoke and Su Shi's sentence "misty rain is coming" fascinated him. At this moment, such a beautiful scenery is touched by nature and is also an open-minded artistic conception contained in the poem.
It's getting dark in the mountains, mixed with reluctance. Looking back at the clear water and green mountains, I thought to myself: there is such a poetic feeling hidden in nature, so why bother to give up a large area of beautiful scenery waiting to be discovered secretly for fame and fortune, just on an ordinary rainy day? ...
The poetic composition of the fifth day is that wine is for drinking, while Chaze is for tasting. In a busy life, a person, a table, a stool, a pot of tea and a ray of sunshine is not a poetic life.
Grandpa downstairs usually likes to put a small table, a teapot and several tea bowls downstairs in the spring afternoon. I poured myself a glass there, and his leisurely manner gave passers-by an illusion of coming out of ancient poetry. Every time I pass by him, I don't understand why he likes to drink bitter and unpalatable tea.
One day, in a bad mood, I went downstairs to rest and saw the familiar figure drinking his own tea there. Maybe I see through my mood. Grandpa patted the bench beside him and said to me, "Hey, come and sit with Grandpa, and Grandpa will invite you to tea." I was wondering what kind of tea fascinates him so much, so I sat down happily. Grandpa scalded the teacup with boiling water first, then took out a little tea from the teapot, put it in the teapot, poured water, waited quietly for a few minutes, then emptied the pot, poured water, took out the scalded teacup and poured tea into two cups respectively. This series of actions looks familiar. The old man just said, "All right." I picked up the tea and drank it, but my eyes were red with hot tea. My grandfather smiled when I kept coughing. After I calmed down, he said to me, "Drink this tea slowly. Tea is for tasting. Please try again. " With a grain of salt, I picked up the cup again and took a sip like an old man. Suddenly, the bitterness of tea filled my mouth and my brow wrinkled, but soon, an unspeakable fragrance and sweetness flooded my throat. The old man looked at me with a surprised smile. I seem to understand why old people like drinking tea so much: isn't it just to feel the poetry of life? I took another sip, slowly waiting for the bitter taste to fill my heart. ...
Life is like tea. How can we taste the sweetness of success without some "bitterness"? This is also a poem in tea. After figuring this out, I smiled and took the tea again. ...
A small cup of tea, but let me appreciate the unexpected poetry in ordinary days.
Six people want to live a poetic life. In the long history, there are countless poets, but everyone has his own beautiful artistic conception and poetic life.
In spring, people live poetically.
"Good rain knows the season, when spring comes." Intermittent spring rain came into my dream, as well as "rainy season". Looking at the spring rain, Han Yu wrote an old saying, "The rain in the sky is as clear as rain, and the grass nearby is nothing." In the spring season, "the spring garden can't be closed, and an apricot is out of the wall." Wouldn't it be useless if the flowers withered? "Falling red is not heartless, but turning into spring mud is more protective of flowers." Said my confusion.
Spring has slipped into our life. She is beautiful and pure, without any distractions. She is gentle and beautiful, which makes people live poetically in the vigorous vitality.
In summer, people live poetically.
"Xiao Hegang showed sharp corners and stood on his head for a long time." Do you smell the lotus flower? The magnificent scenery of "the lotus leaves shine infinitely" is the beautiful sentence of "the lotus flowers reflect different colors in the sun" "The trees are dark and long in summer, and the balcony reflects the pond." Isn't this the endless green in midsummer?
Summer has come into our life. He is passionate and full of energy. The hot summer makes people live poetically in that lively joy.
Autumn, people's poetic life.
"Jun asked that the return date has not yet arrived, and the rain rises in the autumn pool." Autumn is the season of parting and sadness. "Blue sky, yellow leaves, autumn colors, cold smoke on the waves" aroused Fan Zhongyan's strong homesickness, saying that "the high-rise building in the bright moon rests on its own chair, and the wine turns into sorrow and turns into homesickness tears." Autumn is not just a sad season. "Autumn has been sad and lonely since ancient times. I say autumn is not as good as spring." Rachel expressed a little joy this season.
Autumn has come into our life. She is tragic and makes people live in boundless scenery.
In winter, people live poetically.
"Like the strong wind in spring, it blows at night and blows open the petals of ten thousand pear trees." Winter is a snowy world, white and clean, pure and beautiful. Winter is also the season of parting. "Then he disappeared at the corner of the pass, leaving only his hoofprint." "It's not snow from afar, only the fragrance." Plum blossoms are spirits in the snow, still standing proudly in the cold.
Winter flies into people's lives. As clean as a hot spring, it waters the dry well of people's hearts and makes people feel warm when they live in the snow and ice.
People live more brilliantly in poetic days.
Someone once said, "Life is not only in front of us, but also in poetry and distant fields." I thought the same thing.
The thing I remember seems to have just happened.
Summer, what a wonderful time! I met you, a girl with deep eyes like the night sky! We practice music together. At that time, I was practicing music with that brown guitar, and I was a little absent-minded: but you were full of passion, as if you were going to devote your life to it. For this reason, I laugh at you and your stubbornness and stupidity. You don't care, but there is a trace of disappointment in your eyes. I froze, afraid to look at you again. You paused for a moment, then picked up the piano and continued to start. The scorching sun outside is still there.
I asked, "Don't you feel tired? What's the point of sticking to this? " You once retorted angrily to me: "Why is it meaningless? Don't you think it's funny? ..... "Yes, I once had the determination to" ride the wind and waves, sail and sail across the deep sea ",worked hard for my dream, and felt the joy of victory. However, the recent setbacks have made me feel depressed.
After listening to your words, the fire of fighting in my heart burned again, and I decided to work together with you! The beautiful pastoral tune whirls among the green leaves in midsummer, and the sunshine seems to be set off by our music. Look up occasionally, you say, because of you, this summer is really good. When the green leaves are swaying, I can't help but feel Haizi's mood of "facing the sea and blooming in spring"! Really, this summer is like a poem, how beautiful it is!
It's finally the day of the game. I'm shaking with nervousness, but you look unusually calm. What is flashing in my eyes is the firmness and self-confidence of "never breaking Loulan and never returning it". I seem to be infected and my heart is no longer pounding. When the sun shone through the glass, a girl was holding the piano and playing the song that had been practiced thousands of times; Outside the window, the green leaves are still there. When I walked out of the classroom, you couldn't hide your excitement, and there were looming tears in your eyes. You patted me on the shoulder and said, "Come on, you are the best!" " "Looking into your eyes, I nodded firmly.
That summer, we struggled and harvested together, and every day was like a poem! And we are poets, and our youth flies because of struggle!
The holiday that I waited for a month finally arrived as scheduled. I plan to enjoy my life and come to this quaint town to enjoy fireworks and see the world.
The five-hour trek will inevitably make people feel physically and mentally exhausted, but it will soon be covered up by the joy of arriving in Wuzhen. When we first entered the town, we slowly moved forward smelling the flowers mixed with light moisture. Antique! This is my first impression of this town. It seems to be a paradise. Although it is not as prosperous as the city, it has a little unknown elegance. Although I still want to stay, Wuzhen is not our destination after all. We can only find adults to move on.
Through Wuzhen, we arrived at Xiaoshanling, which is the real destination of our trip. This is a small hill that stands behind Wuzhen, but it is always the first place where Wuzhen feels spring. Finally, it's early spring. "Flowers are becoming more and more charming, and shallow grass can be without horseshoes." There is new green everywhere, giving people a little fresh feeling. On the way forward, there is a "dancing water" river There is no tragic "wind rustling and water cooling", but only "fine stones sinking into the sea, looking straight at the fundus." Beautiful things. Looking up, "Jasper dressed as a tree, a tapestry of thousands of strands of green silk hanging down" swept for a long time, full of vitality, which inevitably made people linger. As the sun goes down, time goes by, a little "to see the sun, for all his glory, buried by the coming night." Sadness flooded my mind. How long can the beauty and vitality of this spring be locked by this mountain? I don't know. However, as long as everyone has "flowing water in front of the door can still move westward, don't sing yellow chickens with white hair." Our optimistic attitude, spring, will certainly be printed in each of us.
Some people say that spring is perishable, others say that spring is sad, but I, or those who are moved by spring, undoubtedly appreciate the beauty of spring, the vitality of spring, the extremely light but shocking poetry of spring. I like spring. I like the beauty of spring, which is unattainable. I like her charm and vitality and the poems accumulated through a winter. May poetry always accompany spring!
Jiang Nanan spring breeze is green, when will the bright moon shine on me? Spring. I will wait for you next year!
Those dull lives have been dyed into poetic colors by time.
The mist in the morning showed a faint orange-red, and the sun shone into the room through the curtains and fell on her long eyelashes. Her slender eyes opened slightly. The first thing you see is the golden glow all over the house, and then the smell of toast and milk comes to your nose. She put on her dressing gown and walked out of the room slowly, staring at her mother who was preparing breakfast carefully in the kitchen. Her beautiful silhouette seems to be covered with golden gauze. ...
It rained heavily, which made the whole city shrouded in gloom. The streets and alleys where people come and go on weekdays have become a more beautiful landscape at the moment. People stop to pay attention to the novelty that they don't find on weekdays. Sporadic moss can be seen on the stone road, and fresh vegetables stained with dew are placed at the door of the store. A breeze mixed with earthy breath blew on my face, stroking her cheeks as she shuttled through the market. In front of her, a man and a woman are walking in the rain with their fingers clasped. ...
The city that has just been washed by rain has taken on a new look, and the flowers of that tree have fallen all over the floor, looking like a pink velvet quilt from a distance. A little girl in a pink dress happily ran to the sea of flowers, picked up pieces of petals and put them in the basket. The girl looked at the basket as if it were her whole world, but accidentally fell into the sea of flowers. Seeing all this in the distance, he ran to help the little girl. The little girl took the brightest flower in the basket and said, "Sister, thank you. This flower will look good on you. " She smiled back. At this moment, the whole world seems to be frozen, and the little girl's eyes are shining with the softest pink in her heart.
The waves beat gently against the rocks, and the sea breeze mixed with the salty taste of the sea water rolled up layers of fine sand. An old man, who was stumbling, pushed his wife, whose legs and feet were inconvenient, for a walk by the sea. The sea wet their trouser legs, and they looked at each other in the distance. Where the sea meets the sky, it seems that there will never be an end. The fond memories of that childhood have turned into sea breeze and drifted away. ...
Life is a big book in a hurry, and these poetic pages make this monotonous book colorful.
In the eyes of most people, life is dull and boring. People who have this idea are mostly bound by busyness and fatigue day after day. But I can always open my heart and make my life poetic.
I remember when I was a child, my grandfather used to hold my hand with a brush and teach me to write brush strokes. We write slowly, but seriously. Maybe I didn't write well, but with grandpa's encouragement, I wrote one beautiful work after another. From the copied sentences, I also learned a lot of life truths: "If you are not indifferent, you will be unclear, and if you are not quiet, you will not be far away." It tells me that only by giving up all fame and other distractions can I become a gentleman. "It's too shallow to talk on paper and I don't know how to do it" makes me understand that the knowledge in the textbook is not my own, but in order to confirm this knowledge, I need my own personal practice. In the process of writing, I carefully felt a leisurely poetry.
Now, I often like to find a quiet place to sit down, pick up a good book and read it quietly. In my opinion, reading will also make life full of poetry. When you are immersed in the grandeur and ups and downs of the story in the book, you seem to be there, having fun with the characters in the book and being sad with the characters in the book. Unconsciously, a full and interesting afternoon passed in a hurry. And you not only spend your leisure time, but also feel the author's happy or worried writing feelings between the lines and get to know the author's heart deeply. Moreover, frequent reading can accumulate writing knowledge and make good words and wonderful sentences available at your fingertips when writing. Who says reading is not a poetic act? Reading, the mood will be improved, and it will naturally convey elegant poetry.
In fact, every little thing in life can convey poetry. The most important thing is whether you can open your heart and feel the poetry in life; When you do this, you "see" a poetic world with your heart.
Poetic composition in the days 1 1 Busy life has accelerated our pace. When I recall the word "poem" again, I feel a little strange. Actually, slow down, you are surrounded by poems.
Insects are singing, the rain is ringing, flowers are blooming, the willow is dark and the wind is soft. It's spring again, and Bofa's life is getting longer and longer. There is a large green lawn in the community, and you have to pass by every day when you go to school. However, due to time constraints, there is no time to stop and watch.
One weekend, I finished my homework and went downstairs occasionally. Just as I was passing the lawn, suddenly a fragrant wind surrounded me and broke into my nose. This fragrance is low in sweetness and has a fresh smell of mud. I can't help but stop, because I smell a little poetry. Step on the lawn, find the fragrance, find the source. Walking through the beautiful weeping willows, I looked up and found a tree full of flowers! The pinkish flowers form a curtain, which is huge and distinct. On closer inspection, Gu Duo, who is slightly shy, looks like a blushing girl, so cute. A poem flashed through my mind: "There are many flowers and leaves among the branches, and the small core hides a little red." Yes, how apt this poem is! Suddenly, all the pressure was released. What distress can I live in this poetic space? Looking down, I found that there was a flower. I leaned down and smelled it, only to find that the fragrance came from this flower, which had no fragrance just now. Later, I searched and found that one was Haitang and the other was Daphne. They are beautiful and fragrant, complement each other, and give people all the poetry and half a spring!
Mid-Autumn Night has been full of poetry since ancient times. I put out the lamp and sat on the balcony, looking up at the bright moon that has accompanied China literati for thousands of years. Yuehua is like practice, gentle as water, quiet and ethereal. How to appreciate the circle made of white jade without stopping working? The crow is in the atrium of Bai Shu, and the osmanthus is in Coody Leng. Hundreds of years ago today, lingering poets were also looking forward to this month. Soft poetry, flying over the latitude of time and space, is passed to us. "Don't turn the candle red when you come back, until you step on the horseshoe to clear jathyapple." I only wish Na Yue long, poetic and long. Poetry is everywhere, everyone has it, but it is covered up by the rapidly developing society. When we are physically and mentally exhausted, we might as well enjoy the flowers and the moon, feel the beauty of nature and awaken the poetry in our hearts. When our souls are washed by poetry, all negative emotions will be swept away. Let go of the heavy work and slow down to feel poetry, then the days will be full and the spirit will be full.
Poetry in the days is plain but not mediocre.
12 spring returns to the earth and everything wakes up. The spring breeze blows the branches green, the petals red and the streams red. In carefree, draw a few strokes on the vast field, it is golden, so that the days are full of poetry.
Stand in the room and open the curtains. The original bare mound was covered with golden rape flowers. Gently open the window, the slightly soft wind gently blows through the sea of flowers, and then the sea of flowers rises slowly in waves. Taking a greedy breath of oxygen seems to be full of flowers, which makes people relaxed and happy.
Walking with grandma between the flower field and the path, it seems to be sitting in the middle of the painting. Grandma took off the hoe on her shoulder, washed it back and forth between streams, and dug it up on the land where the new buds had just sprouted. I sat on the stone next to my grandmother and watched her skillfully swing the hoe up and down, feeling a little bored.
Suddenly, the breeze blew through the flowers, and a little thing seemed to shuttle back and forth carefree. I got up and watched it dance back and forth, so I crept up to it. But it seems to have noticed my approach step by step, and in the blink of an eye, it "flew into the cauliflower and was nowhere to be found." Grandma saw my humbled appearance, so she put down her heavy hoe and looked for butterflies with me.
She skillfully rolled up her sleeves, but her eyes were fixed on one direction. I stared down her eyes and opened my mouth in surprise. Grandma gently touched her lower lip with her index finger to signal me not to make any noise, so I had to nod in response.
She bent down and moved forward steadily, tightly protecting Huang Die who was resting among the flowers with her hands. I couldn't wait to see her, so I opened her hand carefully. I saw Huang Die stumbling back and forth in grandma's hands. Seeing it seemed anxious, she asked her grandmother to gently loosen her palm and let it go.
I followed my grandmother's movements and crept among the flowers. A Huang Die flew into my sight. I rushed forward to protect it with my hand, and when I gently opened my palm happily, it was gone. Isn't it "the child chased the yellow butterfly and flew into the cauliflower, but couldn't find it anywhere"?
Slightly open the window, the air is still that pleasant smell. The sun shines obliquely in front of the window, making the cauliflower in the bottle more enchanting. A Huang Die falls on it like a painting. Isn't this the poetry from life and days?
Poetry composition in the days 13 In my heart, poetry is not an artistic conception like spring breeze, nor a magnificent poem, but a mother's love.
That day, I finished my exam and went home. As soon as I entered the room, my mother rushed up and said, "Daughter, what's wrong with you?" This is the first time, and it is still such a low score! Looking at my mother's nagging words, I looked a little impatient and said, "I didn't pay attention, but I was careless." "After that, I returned to my room. But who knows, my mother followed me in and said that I was talking about my place, so I ran out at that time. Finally, the world is quiet, just leave my mother's nagging. I touched my pocket. : "ah! There is still one hundred dollars left, so let's go to the supermarket. "When I arrived at the supermarket, I immediately rushed to the snack area and stuffed the twilight biscuits and chocolates that my mother usually wouldn't let me eat into the shopping cart.
I was about to go home, but when I was walking, it began to rain. "Well, it's bad luck to be scolded by my mother. I can't even walk. Alas, "I muttered, looking around, suddenly a familiar figure appeared in my field of vision. God, isn't that mom? No, I have to hide. So I immediately hid behind the pillar and looked at my mother.
It is raining harder and harder, and my mother's clothes are getting wet, but she is still calling my name and looking for me everywhere. Suddenly a stone tripped my mother, and I couldn't stand it any longer. I ran to my mother with lightning speed and helped her up. I asked anxiously, "mom, why did you come out to see me when it rained?" I will go back. " Mother wiped the rain from her eyes and said, "I'm worried about you." I'm afraid it's not safe for you to walk alone! " At this moment, a warm current came to my mind, and I immediately hugged my mother and said, "Mom, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have run around alone and worried you." "Mom, let's go, let's go home. "At the moment I spoke, I suddenly noticed that my mother had a few white hairs on her head, which was caused by worrying about me day and night.
Sometimes, there are many ways to express a mother's love, perhaps gentle or nagging. But that doesn't stop my mother from loving you.
Motherly love is a poem, a nagging poem!