Your pale fingertips touch my temples,
I can't help but hold your skirt tightly as I did when I was a child.
Ah, mother,
In order to keep your disappearing figure,
Although the morning light has cut the dream into smoke,
I still dare not open my eyes for a long time.
I still cherish that bright red scarf,
I'm afraid that washing will make it
lose your unique warmth.
ah, mother,
isn't the running water of the years just as ruthless?
I'm afraid my memory will fade, too.
How can I open its screen easily?
I cried to you for a thorn.
Now I'm wearing a jingguan, but I dare not.
I dare not moan.
Ah, mother,
I often look up at your photos sadly.
Even though the call can penetrate the loess,
how can I disturb your sleep?
I dare not display the gift of love like this,
although I have written many songs
for flowers, for the sea and for the dawn.
Ah, mother,
My sweet and deep memory,
It's not a torrent, it's not a waterfall,
It's an ancient well that can't sing among flowers and trees. Poems about Thanksgiving for Mother's Day 2
Your pale fingertips touch my temples
I can't help but
hold your skirt tightly as I did when I was a child
Oh, Mother
In order to keep your fading figure
Although the morning light has cut the dream into smoke wisps
I still dare not open my eyes for a long time
I still cherish that bright red scarf
for fear that it will
lose your unique warmth
Oh, Mother
Isn't the running water of the years just as heartless
I'm afraid that the memory will fade too
How dare I open its painting screen easily
I cried to you for a thorn
Now I'm wearing a Jing crown, and I dare not
moan
Oh, Mother
I often look up at your photos sadly
Even though the call can penetrate the loess
How dare I disturb your sleep
I dare not show the sacrifice of love like this
Although I have written many songs
For flowers, for the sea, for the dawn
Oh, mother
My sweet and tender memories
No. It's not a waterfall
It's a dry well that can't sing among flowers and trees. 3
I never give up a piece of paper,
I always keep it-keep it,
I fold it into a small boat,
I throw it from the boat into the sea.
some were blown into the window in the boat by the wind, and some were wet by the waves and stuck on the bow.
I still stack them every day without losing heart.
I always hope that one can only flow where I want it to go.
Mother, if you see a small white boat in your dream,
don't be surprised that it dreams for no reason.
This is folded by your beloved daughter with tears in her eyes.
Wan Shui Qian Shan, please let it carry her love and sorrow home.