Ordinary people in the world, living by one family, how can they be arrogant and arrogant? Everything is nothing more than the warmth of a porridge and a meal, the satisfaction of a little bit, and the gratitude of a family living together.
My daughter's name is Qingqing, and she was born at the age of thirty. The sad days have passed, and I gradually like the ordinary clear sky. Yanyucun Road should only be in ink painting, and Yuyan should only be embedded in the rhythm of Song Ci. It is best to live at home in blue weather, so my daughter's name is Qingqing.
Sunny grew up to nine years old, and our family went to play in Hengchun. Hengchun is in Pingtung, still guarded by my elderly parents, and there are courtyards of osmanthus, magnolia and begonia. After a while, I will go back. I have nothing to do when I go back, except to hear my father say to my grandson,' Oh, I'm so old. If I meet this child in the street, I dare not recognize him!
That year, Qingqing was nine years old, and we played in Jialuo Water. I went to the ticket gate to buy tickets, and two children were waiting beside me. Father always cares only about playing with his smug camera. Just then, suddenly a butterfly flew in. It broke through the gate and flew straight into it.
Mom! Mom! Look, that butterfly flew in without buying a ticket! '
I'm surprised. God, this little girl can tell poetry!
Please, please, what you are saying now is poetry. Write it down quickly, and we will make a contribution.
She looked at me in surprise, don't want to believe:
Really? '
Really. '
Poetry is a kind of love, which will be met when the time comes. A flower, a leaf, a butterfly and a wave can gently open a mysterious door.
She grabbed a pen and wrote the following sentence:
Let's go to Jialuo Water to play.
You must buy a ticket when you enter the park.
Ten dollars, my Lord,
Five dollars for a child,
But at the ticket gate,
We saw a butterfly,
I didn't buy any tickets,
It just flew in.
Hum! How unfair!
Is this really a poem? She has written it, but she still doesn't believe it. It was not until the end of September that this poem was published in China Children's' Little Poet Kingdom' that she finally believed it was a poem.
Another time, in the evening, I was writing a letter to her father who stayed in Hong Kong. She came to me with a geography book.
Mom, is there a three-inch stream in the world?
The child's mind is really amazing. Probably unconvinced, why do books always ask people to carry the longest river, the deepest ditch, the highest main peak and the biggest desert? Why does no one pay attention to the shortest river? It later became a poem:
I asked my mother:
Is there a three-inch stream in the world?
Mom is writing a letter to dad.
She looked up and said:
Have-
It's the tears on your face. '
I said,' No, no-
The water in the stream should be fresh water. '
That day, I was making a long-distance call when she hurriedly handed me a poem:
I wrote it casually in the composition class! '
I stopped talking and said to her:
My daughter just sent me a poem. I'll read it to you. The title is "Mother's Hand"—
When I was a baby-
Mom's hand is a master at making milk.
I always shout, "milk, milk."
When I was a teenager-
Mom is an expert at cooking lunch.
I always shout,' Mom, what's for lunch?'
When I was young-
Mom's hand is a magician looking for things,
I always shout,' Mom, my things are gone!'
Being a bride-
Mom's hands are excellent makeup artists,
I always shout,' Mom, help me put on lipstick.'
In middle age-
Mom's hand relaxed,
I always shout:' Mom, don't be too tired!'
In old age-
Mom's hand is the object of my thinking,
I always shout,' thank you, mom, for your big, ordinary hands.'
Then, my hand will become the object of another child's thinking.
Reading and reading, I only feel choked up. A mother and daughter, 50 years of karma! In the meantime, nothing important can go down in history and be forgotten, just trivial things. However, common things can also be included in poetry, and common things can also haunt people for a long time.
The world is cold and life is really hard. To settle down and buy a home is nothing more than holding grass on the top of an old tree and building a nest in the wind and rain. If there is anything to be proud of, it probably stops at watching young children grow up like chickens, and gradually they can hang out with us, make a fortune and leap into the world. The so-called pride, probably!