Poetry or prose praising one's father

Praise my father's autumn.

Father: Oh

Who plays the flute in autumn?

Let the ripe corn

There was a constant cheer.

Your rough lips

Your calloused hand.

I saw them fiddling with autumn rhyme.

Mature melody

Let this golden autumn be intoxicated.

And my father.

At this time, I saw you put the autumn fragrance.

It tastes sweet and fragrant.

You are blushing with excitement.

Walk into the boundless corn field

Father: Oh

Those plump corn cobs

They laughed and danced.

Slap your strong limbs hard

Beat my chest like a stone

Your dark skin

Caressing the fruits everywhere happily.

There was a long whistle of "ho-ho" in his mouth.

Your love and excitement

Let the joints rattle all autumn.

Hard work and a surge in strength

Indulge in conducting a simple dance

You jumped up and cut off a happy day

My father, oh

I see your tears more clearly.

Your shiny plow

Embedding your salty language in the black land.

You use your powerful fingers

Grab a handful of loose soil

They are attached to your body.

So my father.

I saw you get nervous at once.

Tall and robust corn trees

Your roots extend in all directions.

Deeply rooted in the fertile soil of Liaodong

Every leaf of yours

Green and bright smile in the sunshine.

My father, oh

You smell the wonderful colors of autumn.

A large group of your children and grandchildren

Has quietly matured among your branches and leaves.

Your drunken singing.

Your strong skin

They proudly publish rich and mellow honey.

Let Liaodong's children go.

eat and drink to one's satisfaction

We are like those giant corn cobs.

Surround you tightly

Swing in the carol of cool autumn

Father: Oh

Autumn is so sweet.

I know you will open your arms.

Pounce on the soil under your feet.

Father: Oh, the days to come

I will find your back more beautiful.

Your soul is beating on the corn leaves.

Your body

Feed more endless corn.

My ode

It will also be branded deeper.

It is very popular in Liaodong.

Like your soul.

Eventually it becomes a mature corncob.

Hanging under the eaves of every household

Soul of Liaodong

My father. oh

So I saw—

All of you are full of ideas.

Like a treasure

Outstanding