The mother plot is coming! I hope everyone can help me think of a poem for my mother, thank you!

1.

People's bodies can leave,

but people won't leave,

just like we won't forget our ancestors,

forget our mothers.

Mother is the quilt in bed,

Without her, we will feel cold,

Mother is the salt in the dish,

Life without her.

It's intertwined with the laughter of looking at the children.

2. Harvest Life Volume I

The old face of the mother and the deep wrinkles are the way for the children to grow up.

-Inscription

1

I stared at the sunset on the inclined plane

The hippo carried the moon in the twilight

The newly emerged stars

were filled with my sadness

My thoughts swam loudly in the ink

My pen spent the summer on the manuscript paper

My thoughts were filled with me. Tenderness

I think of my mother's smile

Acacia creeps up on my cheek

I am every

cheerful river in the moonlight

My dream lies on the riverbed of my hometown

I stay with a piece of hot land

My mother's eyes in rice and wheat

I am full of traces of time

I stare at the years. It's like a sickle

waiting for the harvest in autumn

I swing in the sweet fruit

My autumn

belongs to the season of poetry

Second

Every memory of my hometown

lives in my mind

A flock of sparrows fly in

and win all the poems related to dreams

I am the child with a slingshot. The swallows gave me a kind whisper

The wild vegetables that I playfully hung upside down on the branches

playing with my palm prints

, Stones and rabbits

I walk in the dark with the torch of spring

I stand in the barren hills with the wings of my poetry

Eagles pass by

I sing songs in the early autumn morning

I plant the longing and passion of my childhood

Wheat that lives in my soul selflessly in the happy countryside. I

lay peacefully in the eyes of fireflies

My poems

took me to heaven

I accidentally picked up a pair of wings of waterfowl

sketched a blue sky of my own

walked under willow leaves in May

harvested my wet eyes

. Pro-painful and difficult peristalsis

That brilliant night

My father and the dam were lost together

Three

Now, I put my father's smile

and the river that has been silent

into my flame dream

I burned the yellow November

with moldy poems

I saw my mother's thin back

tender feelings for her father

Her love for her father

was buried in the mountain-like loyalty

I don't know how to comfort her < Season's fresh flesh

I walked into the language, Walking into a river

I drew a pair of angry eyes on the high tide shore

My mother was struggling to crawl

In the tearing pain

Years crawled along her mottled forehead

In the wet rainy season

Her hard bones and muscles

were soaked with rheumatism

I tried to turn all the poems

into distillation. Running fast in the blood vessels

let poetry relieve the pain

four

since my mother couldn't walk upright

overnight, I lost my memory

I kept talking about the fate of grass with my mouth wide open like a scalper

I became a sleepy pig

I ate tons of food and thoughts day and night

My mother planted my life in my hometown of Yuan Ye with tears

The silent century

revived in my soul.

I planted the seeds of poetry in Yuan Ye

I'm looking forward to

when poetry grows into a seedling,

my frail mother

will have food for the winter

I'm trying to bury myself with the words of my soul

In fact, I've already been captured by poetry

My father has become a bunch of smooth stones

. > the figure of my father

gradually becomes the fossil of poetry in the piercing wind

My soul shines in his spirit

I walked through the night

trudged through my tenacious rings

held the stars and flames high above my head

My dry eyes

were pierced by the pain like a long arrow

Finally, My soul

returned to the center of the river

5

I spread out a piece of manuscript paper

a piece of faded manuscript paper

Many times

I am full of freedom and life with childhood innocence

Maybe, Only fantasy butterflies

can dance in every corner of April

and I disdain butterfly's attentions

I don't accept her gentle caress

I hold the inspiration of flame high in one hand

and hold cheap thoughts in the other hand

I walk through Yuan Ye with spreading memories

I sit under an old pagoda tree to enjoy the cool

The man who is crazy about poetry. Full of soybeans

In the slippery May

I will use language to build that beautiful home in the name of poetry

I am used to talking to shadows

I want to imagine a flying fish

I am eager to have a flying mood

I sit with the river

I don't need any language

. A fine porcelain cup

stretches freely

So I think of my mother's fine porcelain face

6

Nowadays, there are too many indulgences in my mind

My thoughts about my mother

have also become bubbles and fragments of language

All those memories of my hometown

have also become ravines

I only have. I read the unfinished poem

and feel a kind of happiness called affection

My heart has read the true meaning of life

My desire to plant in the field

Grow yellow fruit in the season

My soul grows tender wind in the fruit

In another spring

Between soil and seeds

I walk freely

. River talk

I walked through rivers with nursery rhymes

with many bright red dreams

blooming like flowers

I sang an episode of an open-air movie

crawling like a mouse in the shadow of a tree with the curtain of the season

under the starlight like sesame seeds

with my waist less than 14 inches

childhood night. Such as bright dewdrops

dipping my blue skirt

hiding in new leaves

weaving a flower season

my memory, Nowadays, I hold all my emotions

around the insects in autumn

and sleep in winter

The condensed transparent liquid in my smile

The wind is hanging in my ear

I can hear the sound of petals opening

I attach a note of my missing on it

I have calloused hands

I have uncovered the secret of life

My green style

.

-Inscription

A

Wind stands guard at the exit of every village

Water walks in the highland barley

Chewing the fragrance of the season

A few pieces of mud, returning to the classical scenery

I sing among the snails

I swim with my thinking feet

with a piece of barren memories

. Slow rhythm

Building thoughts among fishbones

I remember last year, the willow in March

dipped in the ink of thoughts, waiting for germination

This reminds me of the hard Yuan Ye

I played the piccolo, sat inside at night

the millstone moved from my ribs

occasionally looked back, and the messy footsteps

buried the calcium-deficient soil. I wrote down the principle of the size of an egg.

I folded my brilliant childhood into a sail.

I covered the dark wicker with blue sentences.

All the repeated words touched the rocks in my heart.

In the reeds with dense eyelashes,

The frolicking wind said,

The terraced fields are rooted in the back of cattle. Swimming through a pool of mud

drowning in the shadow of time

The past has gone with the running water

I only have to fill my dream with one touch

Stay with a round memory

Second, the strong afternoon sunshine

Dissolve in tears

The worries accumulated by time, Stepping on the ballad

Every piece of mud in my childhood

Sewing up the myth of the universe

Happy birds have a dynamic sound in the rippling black mud

I struggled for survival in thunder until the rain came

I trudged barefoot, observed the prototype of lightning

I lifted the pen on my head and collected rainwater

I untied it in the interweaving. Hold close to family

let the moist eyes of youth

move in circles along the rolling mountains

My thoughts are burdened with the colors in the oil painting

Another color for dreaming

In the middle of the night, snowflakes melt from the edge of winter

I see my mother's tears

singing on the back of the wind day and night

Ripe brown night

Thoughts rippling.

In the lost dusk

Why can't I walk out of the wheat field of my soul

I am tied up in a hard dream and sleep with it

I accidentally picked up the arm of the river

I am sitting in homesickness. Quietly

counting my date of birth

I lay peacefully in my mother's eyes

waiting for bean sprouts from home

Let me take root in the water

I cut the tender time

Find a way to express my feelings in the countryside

I smell the fragrant wind blowing in front of the mountain

Poetry grows into ripe fruit

3

. Coat

drive away sparrows that steal crops

chew life in the local area

sit in the broken soul of clouds

I wander with my back against sadness

I see tears shattering the sky

I plant my mother's tears in the local area

Plant dreams

Let deep love grow moss on the manuscript paper

Get it. Harvesting with golden wheat fields

But my hurried steps

reversed the changing season

I searched for the sound of jointing at night

I crawled freely on the moss with the shadow

I found a dark early spring

I stepped on the flowing songs

My soul dived into the countryside

and stepped into the heavy rain

. I drank the soft wind

and lost my shadow

in pieces of past events

Only words lit up the lights to go home

I searched for the inspiration needle and thread day and night

to mend my water-deficient thoughts, and my soul was still

I was in a patched dream, and I saw the stars in the water

The water was the color of the dream, and I climbed new leaves one after another

. Germinating in Yuan Ye

Ploughshares of life turn over the soil

Farming is more joyful than food

It's one o'clock in the middle of the night, and it's quiet all around

I water Yuan Ye with moonlight

I drown the worries of language accumulation

I hold on to my dream, and I'm afraid I

lose the taste of life before dawn < Let the trees and roots

cool in a soft dream

I lost my cheap sorrow

I found a poem that shone like a deep feeling

I planted sunshine in the farmland

The language of letting thoughts drift

When May came, I entered the tribe of thoughts

My mother's eyes once drew the sadness of the river on the dry shore

. How can I send out a storehouse of emotions

Now, I have to make you a crutch with words

Support your rheumatism and walk hard

My calcium-deficient language is dug into ditches

Run along the river

November, I live in a rural dream every day

I contracted the sky that can fly

I planted all the colors in my life in the stars and sweat

I took the stubborn shadow away with the dusk

Since the morning when I was sensible

I swore, I want to

build a magnificent palace with my hands

make your life comfortable

So I tried to paint the sky with a brush

the color of a coarse blouse

the poem of my soul like dry wood

warmly and persistently embraced

the color of maternal love

4

I love you. Dear mother

I bear the autumn sickness in spring

There are happy tears sewn in the needle and thread

I parachute into my dreams every night

My sense of smell collapses in the middle of the night

I am as thin as a straw without water

My poems plunge into the loyal land

I play among the wheat day and night

I tighten the clockwork of time

. > in the face of the quiet sky

I lost my aphasia expression for half a year

I put my thoughts into the night

I have the same fate as crops

I try to use the concept of soil

verbs that grow with life

life blooms into sesame flowers

wisps of faint sweetness bloom

I sit in nostalgia

. Moonlight-fed folk songs

Cooking smoke keeps watch in the distance

My dream winds along the mountain path

My mother's smile is the first touch

From then on, the rice I walked out of

My mind brewed mellow spirits

I was pentium and exiled in my body

My soul burned with alcohol

My bones were exposed.