A short and beautiful poem praising parents: parents and hometown
The pace of a year is approaching.
Parents' heart sounds penetrated the wind and fog.
I know you may not come back.
Countless times, I can look at the solitary tree full of village heads.
Every day from the whistle of hope to the disappearance of the rear of the car
Rotating eyes are full of too many words.
Listen to the vicissitudes of life.
Children are spring flowers in the eyes of parents.
The cold wind can't blow through love.
Thinking is selfless and noble.
The lullaby was written by mother herself.
Who is at the bottom line of the spring dream, watching the young trees grow sturdily?
It is my parents who are sleeping soundly.
What's there?
It's hard for us to give up all our lives.
There is a rainbow on the horizon.
Or beautiful flowers
No, it was the wanderer's footsteps that stayed at the street corner of childhood.
This is the kite string tied to the kite.
Hometown eaves, campus fields
Looking at the moonlight in my hometown
Through this eyeful of light
Let peace of mind spread to the spoony night sky.
My thoughts go with the wind to touch my hometown.
Then, I wrote a song in the cloud.
Comfortable waiting for your chord.
Fly with dreams
Fly to the place where I want to remember.
A short and beautiful poem praising parents: Mom and Dad.
thank you
Brought me here.
Beautiful world
thank you
Gave me free air.
bright sunshine
thank you
Teaching earnestly
Sincere entrustment
I have grown up.
And you're old
Grateful to the humble grass
Did you repay the kindness of generous Sun?
I will give you a sincere filial piety.
I wish you health forever.
A short and beautiful poem praising parents: dedicated to mom and dad
Silent action
Shoulder the silent greatness.
Silent vicissitudes
Climb up the black hair silently.
Pay without complaint
How do children repay?
Quiet love
Melt in silence
Thoughts fly to the horizon
Fly to Everest
Use everything
Pick a saussurea involucrata.
Elegant white
Aroma and prosperity
To endless grace.
Dedicated to them—
dad
mother
A short and beautiful poem praising parents: parents
You are like spring.
Nourish my ignorance with youth
Indulge in my naughty.
You are like summer.
Take pains to manage my life.
Tolerate my unruly.
You are like autumn.
The joy of autumn harvest
Can't hide your vicissitudes of life.
You are like winter.
There is no posture of standing proudly.
Only gray hair is left at the temples.
Your life is like four beautiful seasons.
The life building where I have devoted my efforts.
A short and beautiful poem praising parents: "Daddy's Rosegrass"
The old street is still mottled, I am with you.
The wind and snow of the years have dyed your hair white.
Your brow is furrowed and full of sadness.
The dim light makes you tired and waiting for me.
These words have been hidden in my heart for many years, but I haven't been able to say them.
I didn't understand the retention in your eyes until I left home.
Without tears and waving, you want me to move forward firmly.
Just like the rose grass you love to grow, it is small, but it is proud to have it.
A person walking in the street will bravely face the cold current.
Without your warm embrace, your strength and ...
Humming your favorite songs and finding the flavor of your existence.
Thoughts are entangled in my heart, stubborn as your silence choked my throat.
These words have been hidden in my heart for many years, but I haven't been able to say them.
I didn't understand the retention in your eyes until I left home.
Without tears and waving, you want me to move forward firmly.
Just like the rose grass you love to grow, it is small, but it is proud to have it.
When the phone rang, you waited by the phone for a long time.
Laugh like a child. Mother's nagging is not enough.
Robbed the cell phone. You said everything was fine. Don't worry.
Now I am in tears, which is a feeling of happiness.
A short and beautiful poem praising parents: Dad's Rice Bowl.
Khaki rice bowl
inside
With decades of blood and sweat.
also
The weight of the whole family
The relentless passage of time
Navan
It's slowly turning yellow.
The edge has also been scratched by years.
one day
Still the same job
Like that
It's light yellow, too.
anxious
It also flows in it.
Bowl bracket
No, this is what the old man looks like.
A short and beautiful poem praising parents: father's three-foot platform
Father's three-foot platform
In that lonely town.
As the father of a rural teacher.
I don't know the projector
Can't use a computer
Father stood on the platform.
Just use a short piece of chalk.
On the blackboard.
I wrote it over and over again.
Old knowledge that has been fermented in my mind.
Father used thick chapped lips.
Tell the past and the future
Poverty and sadness
A small platform three feet high.
It's my father's 18 year.
Hard-working land
Young people sitting under the stage
In the rolling of annual rings
I accidentally changed one dial after another.
But what about father?
He has always stuck to his narrow position.
His three-foot platform
This three-foot platform
It carries the dream of my father when he was young.
It witnessed his father's passion.
At the same time,
And dyed my father's black hair white.
It pollutes day after day.
The lungs on which my father lives.
Father's three-foot platform
Not just the podium,
It fills the stomach of a family.
It unconsciously,
Took away my father's sun.
Hot and youthful.
Father's enthusiasm is here.
Burn to ashes
Father's blood is here.
Frozen to avoid boiling.
Eighteen years, eighteen years of silent persistence.
This is not the longest time.
But it was my father's best years.
Father chose to set himself on fire, and then
Still standing on a three-foot platform,
With calm and serene eyes
Watching others shine
And the heat that warms the heart and lungs.
Later, later, later
Some people say you are old.
They put on a hypocritical gesture,
Euphemistically advise you to leave quietly.
Finally, finally, finally.
You came home empty-handed.
Keep your sleeves clean, but stay.
A hunched figure.
Eighteen years later, my father
I-from under your three-foot platform
Fly away from your busy area.
Every noisy night
You will always be in my dream.
This is your three-foot platform.
You're a regular figure in honest and frank.
And you've been sticking to the three-foot platform.
In my dream, it has always been.
Never an old hero.