Silent action shoulders silent greatness and silent vicissitudes, climbs up black hair silently, and pays without complaint. How can children repay that quiet love, melt their thoughts in silence, fly to the horizon, fly to Mount Everest, and use everything to pick a snow lotus white with elegant fragrance and endless love for them-mom and dad gave me a chance to ask your mother to look out of the window, and suddenly I remembered my mother. Are you sitting alone under the lamp? Leave a feeling of feedback to the lonely teardrop bird. Sheep have the grace to kneel and nurse. There is a saying that is the kindest, and there is a telephone that is the most beautiful. There is one person who should be most grateful. She is "mother" and he is "father" Her mother's hands are thick, and she gave my father a gentle touch. He looked straight at my mother, her eyes were bright. I gradually forgot to be moved and forgot to say thank you. Yes, parents' love is like a cup of strong tea, which needs us to savor carefully. If maternal love is a ship, it carries us from adolescence to maturity; Then fatherly love is a sea, which gives us a happy harbor. If the mother's true feelings ignite the hope in our hearts; Then my father's love will be our sail. You taught me how not to miss? Looking at the stars in the sky, the white hair on your temples rises and falls, and there are waves on the calm sea. Maybe I really miss you. Maybe I really want to go home and tell you my concern with tears. Let me call you "mom!" We keep all our goodwill in mind. Let's say "thank you". Yes, there are too many people to thank on our growth path, because they let us live a happy life, because they let us grow up carefree, and we laugh in the sunshine of great love. People who thrive and are always grateful under the nourishment of human true feelings are the happiest, and life with gratitude is the sweetest. Learn to be grateful-thank my parents. Because they gave me precious life, I learned to appreciate-thank my teachers, learn to appreciate-thank my friends, because they gave me the strength to overcome difficulties, learn to appreciate-appreciate everything around me, because they gave me a harmonious and healthy growth space. Let's learn to be grateful, learn to be grateful and live with gratitude. If I were a lonely boat, my mother would stand quietly like a bright lamp in the Wang Yang. If I were a bud, my mother would moisten silently like the morning rain. If I were a fish fry, my mother would feed me quietly like a stream in a mountain stream. If I were a kite, my mother would pull it gently like a long line in the wind and rain. If I were a bamboo shoot, my mother would shine as warmly as the beautiful sunshine in early spring. If I were a seedling, my mother would be deeply ploughed like fertile soil in the field.
I am a wayward child, maybe I am a child spoiled by my mother. I am willful. I hope every moment is as beautiful as colored crayons. I hope I can draw a clumsy and free picture on my beloved white paper, an eye that will never cry, a sky, feathers and leaves belonging to the sky, a light green night and an apple. I want to draw a smile that I can see in the morning, and draw all the youngest love. She has never seen a cloud. Her eyes are clear. She will always look at me and never turn around suddenly. I want to paint a distant landscape, a clear horizon and water waves, many happy rivers and hills-full of faint fluff. I let them get close to each other, let them fall in love, and let every acquiescence in every quiet spring become a little flower's birthday. I also want to paint the future. I've never met her. It's impossible, but I know she is beautiful. I painted her autumn windbreaker, those burning candles and maple leaves, many hearts extinguished by loving her, weddings and festivals that woke up in the morning-with cellophane and illustrations of northern fairy tales. I am a wayward child. I want to draw all the misfortunes on the earth, so that all eyes accustomed to darkness can get used to light. I want to draw a downwind, a mountain higher than a mountain, the desire of the oriental nation, and draw the sea. Finally, in the corner of the paper, I want to draw a koala for myself. He is sitting in the dark Victoria forest, sitting on a quiet branch. He has no home and no heart to stay away from. He only has many berry dreams and big eyes. I hope to think about it, but I don't know why I didn't get crayons and a colorful moment. I only have fingers and pain. All I have to do is tear off Zhang Xinai's white paper, and I can find butterflies and make them disappear from today.
two