Busy people,
Strong people,
People like the wind,
As long as they get home, they will become fathers,
Change for children
Light the stove
The father who nailed the nail on the swing,
Close at night
Father who picked up the fallen leaves.
It's noisy outside,
But the father is the fence for the children.
Father's eyes
Although I can't see tears,
But in the wine my father drank,
Half is tears.
The mud on my father's body
Will always be washed clean,
Belong to children
Pure blood.