one
I like this season full of fruits.
Put the sweetness of maternal love
Brew into a century's dream
My dream is not loneliness, but waiting.
Wandering back and forth on the road of love
Mature crops adorn mother's face.
My thoughts fell on the sundial.
Shan Ye is permeated with goodwill.
I remember in a cold winter.
I ended the night early.
Fight for the right of maternal love
I am a seed.
On the snowy bed of maternal love, it germinated on purpose.
I slept soundly under the faint kerosene lamp.
Missing constitutes the road of the past.
I've been falling in my dreams.
I'm in a broken dream.
Look for the willow tree in front of the door and sit under the canopy.
Mother's blind pupil watched.
I smell the sweat on the blue coarse cloth coat.
Fall like a blooming flower
Those flowers are symbols of spring.
two
I returned to my hometown with a light dream.
I went into the country at night.
Crickets are singing on the path
The river has become a lifelong happiness.
A night for Tao Ran
I saw my mother shed a drop of sweat.
Cultivate and protect your home.
I saw a dream in bamboo blue.
Think of the golden fruit in autumn.
I wear a windward coat every day.
In the sun.
Tireless earthworm
Soften the countryside.
The tree is swaying. Spring has come and flowers are in full bloom.
Music full of local flavor
I remember last year, which was also the day when flowers bloomed.
I walked into my mother's dream.
Housekeeping puppy
Half-lying on dark green moss
Snoring is loud and loud.
Last spring morning.
My heart suddenly tightened.
A sparrow that can't be driven away
Swallow my mind.
I smell winter.
Bind my nerves day and night
My eyes are full of fear.
I have a premonition of death.
three
At that moment that morning.
I pointed to the door.
My eyes shed the last tear.
A group of stars twinkled before my eyes.
Those stars are lovely spirits in heaven.
I saw the happiness of blue bubbles.
How I want to play a song "Rivers and Rivers"
In this silent night
In my sleep, I heard the piano of maternal love.
In a foreign land, the sky keeps falling.
My eyesight collapsed.
Before autumn came, the birds flew away.
I look for more maternal love in my dreams.
Looking for rain to spread ideas.
I dreamed of the moon bird at night.
Flying in that magical land
I face the window and can't see the sky.
A slender willow
As far as I know.
four
I can only translate rainy nights with love songs.
In the yellowing years
Find a fish and spit out happy bubbles.
Let all emotions
Break the banks between the stars
I put the emotion of waving reeds
Put it in the box of childhood
Twenty years ago, that weak willow tree
Twenty years later, willows sprout at home.
Stand up straight.
Mom! You use warm tears
Change adorns the four seasons and waters my life.
On cold nights, I always dream of birds in the snow.
Slowly, step by step
Measure the depth and length of maternal love
I really want to write something for you.
But I can only express my comfort with poetry.
First the mind is clear, then the mind is fuzzy.
I became your shadow.
five
That's it. You've been walking with me.
Until you see another road.
In the afternoon, you hugged me tightly.
Everything wakes up and dreams for a long time.
I love my mother more and sleep in the clouds.
My dream has been extended.
Picking the scenery that belongs to my mother.
I'll follow you.
Pick up the lost things and put them away.
I saw the night disperse and the sun rise.
I'm looking for a smile buried deep in your forehead
Find the notes of maternal love and sing aloud.
Suddenly I heard a heavy sigh in my heart.
I bypassed the grape trellis in the yard.
Those ripe purple grapes pouted.
I chewed in your deaf ears.
I found your cotton skirt wet with dew.
I kiss the smell of dew and sunshine.
I used to write a poem about maternal love every time.
My emotions will be weathered into tiny particles.
My adjective lay there quietly.
Like sweet-scented osmanthus in August, it exudes fragrance.
six
Many times, I sat in the forest you planted.
I always worry that I can't be my mother's tree.
I can only write the shape of the wind under the pen tip.
Finally, one day, I discovered the language of poetry.
I read about maternal love from the rainbow.
I am the tireless little snail.
Climb your mountain in spring.
Wan Shanhong is my feather.
Mom, you use liquid fingers.
Make me a cotton-padded jacket for the winter.
The horizon on my back is soft.
Your hair is a dense forest
Your heart is an endless river.
I love you, my dear mother.
I have been planting gold coins in potatoes for many years.
Buy the whole beautiful sky
Here's my favorite marshmallow.
Yes, I didn't forget.
I promised to write a book of poems for you.
Bring you news of comfort and health.
Now recording maternal love has become my happiness.
The whole process excited me.
My mind turned to the manuscript.
In the middle of my desk, where the chair is.
Ears are like sensors full of hearts.
I heard the voice of maternal love.
It's the sound of eating mulberry leaves
seven
I've been dreaming recently.
I watch snowflakes and glass snuggle up to each other every day.
Snowflakes fly and hover quietly.
Lie down inside me.
Slow colors drift in my body.
I dreamed of the train leading to my home.
I stood outside with a bunch of keys.
But the door won't open.
Spring is coming. Winter has passed.
My pen is like silence cut by an iron plow.
I write down soft memories.
I am picking clover in season.
See the spotlight
In my retina.
Outside the window, crickets are talking.
Motherly love is always a great truth.
I'm looking for all the mottos of maternal love.
My affection spontaneously ignited in the dark.
My love for my mother turned into homesickness.
Red flame, with the power of crops.
Tell all the memories.
A mirror of incubation time and inspiration.
Keep writing poetry every day, and write with your heart.
A place to live
I'm looking for a motherly love sticker.
I'm on my way with a dream of love.
Arrive at one place, another place
Maternal love is the eternal theme of human beings.
We give it too many interpretations and too many connotations.
There is no soul-stirring historical epic, no shocking reversal of stormy waves, and a mother's love is like a spring rain, a clear song that moistens things silently for a long time.
Yu, a contemporary essayist, wrote in an article: "The starting point of all travelers is always to say goodbye to their mothers ... Their destination is the aging ... elderly people in their twilight years. It is impossible to cry for their mothers without moving people, and they cannot but cry for their return and wander."
Motherly love is the ultimate destination of wanderers and a clear spring that nourishes children's hearts. With the children sipping and sipping, it is endless. Therefore, the lingering maternal love is integrated into the children's laughter and tears.
Motherly love is like an idyll, far away and pure, elegant and light;
Motherly love is a landscape painting. Wash away the lead carving and leave it fresh and natural.
Motherly love is like a affectionate song, melodious and melodious, singing softly;
Motherly love is a warm wind, which blows away the snow and brings infinite spring.
Motherly love is a lifetime of laughter and a wandering yearning. Motherly love is the concern and anxiety of children before their sickbed. Motherly love is the ardent expectation of their children's growth.
When I think of my mother, my depression will turn into high emotions; When I think of my mother, wasting time will become great pride; When I think of my mother, the wandering wanderer will sprout the desire to go home; Thinking of my mother, my wandering heart found a home.
Time is like water, and the years are fleeting. How many memories disappear like water, but we have never changed our thoughts of our mother. The warbler goes to swallow, and the spring goes. Her face is getting older and her hair is as white as snow. The child is growing up day by day, but the mother is aging day by day. When the children see the white-haired mother in the high hall, they will jump into her arms and shed tears!
Motherly love is also the eternal theme of literature and music. Literati write articles on the topic of maternal love, moistening things silently; The musicians are mainly maternal love, and the tunes they play are soft and beautiful, with a long aftertaste.
The thread in the hand of a kind mother makes clothes for her wayward children. Before leaving, I had a stitch for fear that my son would come back late and his clothes would be damaged. But how much love has an inch of grass, and it is rewarded with three spring rays. " Meng Jiao, a poet in the Tang Dynasty, experienced ups and downs, poverty and sadness, but his mother's smile always lingered in his mind. Knowing his mother's future, he couldn't hide the smile on his face, couldn't restrain the joy in his heart, shook off the tired wind and frost on the top of his clothes, brushed away the dust accumulated in his heart, and took his wife and children to meet his mother outside Liyang City. Green grass, fragrant flowers, white clouds and clear rivers are filled with endless thoughts of my son. Mother and son depend on each other, with tears in their eyes, holding their mother's warm hand and looking at her old face. They couldn't help crying and were filled with emotion. Under Meng Jiao's pen, this poem "Ode to a Wanderer", full of maternal love, was melted and cast, sincere and profound, and passed down for thousands of years.
Du Fu, a poet in the Tang Dynasty, lived in exile all his life. After the Anshi Rebellion, I returned to my hometown, and the countryside was deserted, and things were different. Bitter and sad, seeing things hurt the body, he combined the feelings of worrying about the country and the people with the feelings of missing his mother, and wrote a touching Homelessness. "Forever pain long sick mother, five years committee ditch creek. I was born weak and sour about life. Life is homeless, why steam! " The words are sad and sad enough to make people feel generous and shed tears for generations.
At the end of the Eastern Han Dynasty, Cai Wenji was taken captive to Xiongnu by mutinous soldiers and left his hometown, and Wan Li fled. When they were redeemed by China's envoy, the mother and son said goodbye, tears filled their eyes, and relatives and friends said goodbye, which made them sad. She wrote in Poems of Mourning Anger: "I have freed my life, so I should abandon my son. Heaven belongs to composers, and there is no meeting time for reading ... no. Crying hands caress when you answer doubt. " Sad, sad, sad voice, it makes people cry. People in the Tang dynasty once wrote Hu Jia's songs on this topic, which seemed to cry rather than cry, and a strong feeling of mother and son permeated the tune.
Maternal love is great and selfless. It immerses everything and fills the space between heaven and earth.
With maternal love, mankind will move from desolation to the prosperity of civilization; With maternal love, society moves from indifference and severity to peace and well-being; With maternal love, we move from melancholy to singing, from stupidity to wisdom; With maternal love, there will be the beginning of life, the continuation of history, the germination of reason and the return of human nature.
One noon in spring, I came home from school and saw my mother in bask in the quilt, so I wanted to dry the quilt.
I took out the quilt and hung it on both ends of the clothesline. After lunch, I went to school.
I came back in the afternoon and saw my quilt as soon as I entered the room. Unlike at noon, they have been basked in the best sunshine zone, and the sunset has covered the snow-white quilt with a shallow golden color. However, my mother's quilt stays alone at both ends of her cold life, and the shadow of the house silently draws monotonous and regular geometric figures on it.
I went to my quilt and touched it with my hand. They are warm.
Of course they are warm, as warm as a mother's hand.
I touched my mother's quilt again. They are cool.
Of course they are cool, just like the back of a mother's hand.
Many past plots suddenly came to my eyes: the best sheets at home, the best room, the best flowerpot, the best food, and even the most exquisite bowl when eating ... these things are all mine, just like the sunshine zone where I live.
I know, for my mother, these plots are not accidental.
In the short and long journey of life, maybe your friends give you happiness, maybe your studies enrich you, but it must be your mother who warms you. She uses the back of her hand to shield you from all the wind and frost she can do for you, and also uses her palm to keep the warm sunshine for you.
Mother is the eternal sunshine zone.