There is a modern poem about maternal love 1. Who didn't rebel when he was young, or dreamed of rebellion?
Who didn't try to leave his mother when he was young?
Because of that maternal love, it was everywhere, suffocating us who were eager to grow up at that time.
Later, I finally stumbled into the adult life.
Give full play to the individual rebellion and collective obscenity in the outside world.
I think this is growth. I think I have grown up.
Later, I experienced a cold world and a warm and cold feeling.
I suddenly realized that the outside world may not be as wonderful as I thought.
And the mother's arms are the warmth of a lifetime!
So I returned to nature, walked a long way, turned around and went home to find that hug.
Motherly love, always waiting in place,
It is also everywhere, safe, warm, very loving, very loving. ...
There are modern poems about maternal love. 2. Night in an empty mountain, born early.
Always cold hands and feet.
Put out the stars and kerosene lamps.
I sat by the fire.
Wait for mom to cook with corn.
And the cold fingers in the twelfth month
I always get tracheitis from my posterior cervical fossa.
Cough slowly and tightly.
And my mother always burns a pile of toilet paper.
Stuff it on my back.
Iron my asthma.
Ironing a warm dream
Now I live in the city.
Mom's cabin is far away from me.
My hometown is far away from me.
Someone asked me, what is maternal love?
I always prevaricate for a long time.
I don't know how to answer.
Today, I got a call from my mother.
On the other end of the phone is an 80-year-old mother.
Ask me if bronchitis is over.
On the other end of the phone is my 80-year-old mother.
Cough badly
I suddenly realized.
Motherly love is a pile of dried toilet paper.
So, I tried to put my cough back into my throat.
I said two words of blessing to my mother.
There are modern poems about maternal love. I never refuse to throw away a piece of paper.
Save it forever.-Save it,
Folding into a very small boat,
Throw it into the sea from the boat.
Some were blown into the window of the ship by the wind,
Some are wet by the waves and stick to the bow.
I still fold every day and never give up.
I always hope that a place can only flow where I want it to go.
Mom,
If you see a white boat in your dream,
Don't be surprised that it dreams for no reason.
This was folded by your beloved daughter in tears.
Wanshui Qian Shan,
Ask it to bring her love and sadness home.
There are modern poems about maternal love. Mom, it's been a long time.
I just want to write a poem for you.
But I wrote it many times.
I haven't written it yet
Mom, I wrote this poem for you.
I don't know how to start.
I don't know how to end it.
I don't know what to write.
It's like slapping you hard when you were a child.
I don't know whether to accept it bravely.
Or should I choose to escape?
Mom, I thought of you again tonight.
I decided to write a poem for you.
Even if it's not well written
Even if you are far from home.
Never read ...
Mom,
If you see a white boat in your dream,
Don't be surprised that he dreams for no reason.
This was folded by your beloved daughter in tears.
Wanshui Qian Shan,
Begging him to bring her love and sadness home.
There are modern poems about maternal love. 5. Your pale fingertips touch my temple.
I can't help acting like a child.
Hold on to your skirt
Ah, mom.
In order to keep your fading figure
Although the morning light has cut the dream into smoke.
I still dare not open my eyes for a long time.
I still cherish that bright red scarf.
Afraid that cleaning will make it
Lose your unique warmth
Ah, mom.
Isn't the running water of the years just as ruthless?
I'm afraid the memory will fade, too.
How dare I open its screen easily?
I cried to you for a thorn.
Now I'm wearing a Jing Guan, and I dare not.
I dare not moan.
Ah, mom.
I often look up at your photos sadly.
Even if the call can penetrate the loess
How dare I disturb your sleep?
I dare not show the sacrifice of love like this.
Although I have written many songs.
For flowers, for the sea, for the dawn.
Ah, mom.
My sweet, soft and deep memory.
Not a torrent, not a waterfall.
It's a dry well, and it can't sing under the shade of flowers and trees.