There is a kind of love, wherever you are.
I can feel her warmth.
There is a kind of love, no matter what your life is in danger.
I can feel her heartbeat.
You are happy, and she is happy.
You are sad and she cries.
Only she
Never need to cherish.
But never forget.
Author: Good wind often poisons Source: China Mother Literature Network
3. Give it to my mother
Goethe
Although I haven't said hello to you for a long time,
I didn't write to you, but don't let your heart
Doubt, as if your son should.
My deep love for you comes from my chest.
Disappear. Nothing like that stone,
Always rooted in the bottom of the water,
It will never leave its position, even if it is running water.
Sometimes with wind and waves, sometimes with soft waves through it.
It flows by, so people can't see it,
My love for you is so inseparable.
In my chest, despite the long river of life,
Sometimes I am hit by pain and roll violently.
Sometimes quietly caressed by happiness,
Coverage and blockade make it impossible.
You can't reflect around the sun.
The returning sunshine is in front of your loving mother.
Let you know how much your son respects you.
Note: Selected from Selected Poems on Foreign Topics (Baihua Literature and Art Publishing House, 1994 edition). Translated by Qian Chunkun. The next poem comes from the same source. Goethe (1749-1832) is a German poet, novelist and thinker. His masterpieces include the poetic drama Faust and the novel young werther. This poem was written in May 1767.
4. Dedicated to my mother? Heine
Heine
I'm used to strutting around,
My temperament is also a bit stubborn;
Even if the king and I face each other,
I won't lower my eyes.
But, mom, I want to be honest with you:
Although my self-esteem is very strong,
Once I come to your happy and kind side,
Often feel inferior and cringe.
You have a noble spirit that permeates everything,
Radiant, direct to the sun, the moon and the stars,
Is this spirit secretly conquered me?
Recalling the past really makes me sad.
I did a lot of wrong things and broke your heart.
Good love for my loving mother!
Note: [Heine (1797— 1856)] German poet. His representative works include Germany and Fairy Tales in Winter. This poem was probably written by the poet when he went home to visit relatives 182 1.
5. Motherly love poems
Bing Xin's Paper Boat
I never throw away a piece of paper,
Save it forever.-save it.
Fold into a 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 don't give up and fold every day.
I always hope that a place can only flow where I want it to go.
Mom, if you see a small white boat in your dream,
Don't be surprised that it dreams for no reason.
This was folded by your beloved daughter in tears.
Wan Shui Qian Shan, please carry her love.
And sadness.
Eternal mother
When I first opened my newborn eyes.
The first thing I saw was the incomparable holiness of my mother.
Love eyes and tears of joy-
Staring at you without blinking an eye.
Your hazy and ignorant heart beats instinctively
But I can't express my feelings, just dancing around.
I am so anxious that you can't help crying loudly.
After many days and nights of cultivation
Sit up straight at last, your little body.
After adjusting EQ and IQ
Never wait, shout out life.
The most precious first sound-mom
This is the most touching original moral.
No matter how many languages there are in the world.
Only this cry is absolutely the same.
No music, no poetry.
It can be more touching than this.
A traveler's song
The mountains are unwilling to send away the sunset.
Affectionate sailors are unwilling to sail.
Hope is calling.
The outside world is my paradise,
A free heart is flying.
Mom, do you care about me?
Mother looked at me anxiously.
Mom, do you want my life to be more exciting?
Mother looked at me with relief.
Listen to the train, the flute ...
Holding hands tightly through the window.
Ah, mom.
Shu Ting
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 aging figure,
Although the morning light cuts dreams 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 my memory will disappear,
How dare I open its screen easily?
I cried out to you for a thorn,
Now that I'm wearing a police uniform, 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 gift 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 rapids, not waterfalls,
It is an ancient well that can't sing among flowers and trees.
1975.8