Pay tribute to your father. Dad was exhausted all his life. Your belief is only to seek happiness for his children. Thanks to your efforts, the family is harmonious and happy, and life is getting better and better. Maybe only mom is better in the world. Not many people are appealing, because it is undeniable that dad is no less devoted to his family than his mother. In the real society, dad is the source of family income. He silently supported the whole family. No complaints. In the eyes of a father in the world, nothing is more important than relying on his own home, so as a father, he is destined to work hard for the comfort and happiness of his family all his life. What a respectable and great father. There is no more selfless love in the world than fatherly love. It's time to express our sincere love to our father on Father's Day. When my father is hazy, my father is a mountain sitting on his shoulder. I can always see far away. When I was sensible, my father was a stubborn bent pine, only to find that my weight was so heavy. So heavy, now, father, you are a profound poem. The son silently read tears, gently flowing his father's blue sky, a mysterious green hill, a quiet and profound vast land, and a vibrant opportunity for all people to live in harmony with nature. The ridge in Tanaka is a beautiful staff, the grains dancing in the wind are jumping notes, and the Jiuqu Mountain Road is the string of this world and the light footsteps of our fathers. This is the swan song of life. Sweat surges in the canal dug by the years, stirring the waves of development. The blue veins are the Great Wall built by strength. Gong Yu's spirit of moving mountains extends from here. Moonlight moistens this quiet night, and the running water in front of the house takes away all the fatigue. I feel peace in snoring, and I feel the light of white hair in the mirror. The years when his father was built by wind and rain are deeply outlined on his forehead. Wisdom and life are gone, and my father's grace is gone. Traces are covered with dead leaves and lush grass. Why are the years so hasty? I remember that night, my father took my little hand to see the sunset dyed red with clouds, as if my father was expecting a dream of mine. I'm too guilty to look my father in the eyes full of expectation. The vast sea of clouds seems to be my father's deep love for me, and I am happy. I really want to cry. When I was a child, my father always said to me: I am a big tree. You are a small tree. Now a grown-up little tree wants to say to his father: You will always be my big tree father, holding hands on the railings of the city and looking at the fragrant soil of my hometown. I think of my father outside Qian Shan, on the dirt. At that time, my father walked in the wind, changing various weeding postures, holding farm tools close to the soil, loving the soil and kissing us in the fields in March. At that time, I didn't. Too rich poetry grows in the field, and it is my father's wish to stand on his head for many years. I have been away from my hometown for many years. A hunchbacked figure is vivid in my mind. Standing on the golden ridge in September, with a shiny sickle in his hand, he wrote his blessing to his father. It is said that wind can blow away stones, rain can rust steel, and time can rust your spine. Bending only your will is indomitable and never changes, arousing the weight of the whole family's life. Father's tenderness is the endgame of water playing with you for thousands of years. You lured me across the river with years of respect, and I bet my youth that you got into your car and swept my defense. My horse moves forward step by step, pushing your nest. Father played a discordant chess game. I can't destroy your moat. You can't break into my crystal palace. My father's way tells me that the monument erected by my father will be a road sign for progress. This road continues in my life. Ordinary fathers have no carols, no feats, only stories I miss. I will stride forward with brave faith and extend my father's road to a brilliant future. Father's Day is coming again, but my father never knows it, just as he never knows he is tired. Father! How many times have you missed our dinner? How many times have you quietly left my dream and remembered the tenderness of your hands touching my face after doing farm work all your life? How many times have your strong body fallen because of us, father! Suddenly I smelled a thick smell of loess. No, that's a strong manly smell coming from you. My eyes are captured by tears again, father! Your blood is in my veins, father! It is Father's Day again. Have you received my blessing again?
Hope to adopt