My mother, like the moon, shines on the doors and windows of my house, how holy and kind, shining with the light of love. For the sake of children, not afraid of dark clouds, give me warmth and encourage me to go up. Mom, I love you. I love you. You're amazing. My mother shines on my doors and windows like a star. She is so holy and kind, emitting the light of love. Grateful heart I came from an accident, like a grain of dust. Who can see my fragility, where I come from, where my feelings go, and who will call me next moment? Although the world is wide, this road is difficult. I have seen all the ups and downs in this world. How much love I have, and how many tears I have. I want God to know that I will not give up my gratitude. Thank you for staying with me all my life and giving me the courage to be my grateful heart. Thank you, flowers bloom and fall. Mom! I love you, you taught us to endure hardships, you taught us to live up to the scenes of childhood, we often dream of our mother's love, and we will never forget her kindness, even in stormy waves, even in wind, frost, rain and snow. With your mother, everyone is willing to fight for greatness. A hymn to my mother (Zhang Jing) My mother is as humble as moss, as solemn as morning light, as soft as Jiangnan sound, as cold as jade (flying) for thousands of years. When I lift my eyes, she is a bright moon. When I looked down, she was the mother of the earth. Chronic stomach disease is a nightmare that has plagued you for many years. My thin figure can't be digested by the bitter water in my heart Those stones that can't be spit out are malaria that can't be pulled out. Your painful expression curled up in bed still worries me about my beloved mother. Simple farmers, the calluses on your hands sown hard in the season are the wrinkles on your forehead turned over by the hoe of fate in the private plots on the mountain, the ridges in the terraced fields, and the age spots on the wave arms of the village river. It is the scar left by the drought in poor years, which exhausted youth and sweat. You've worked hard for your children all your life. You are getting older and calmer. You never complain, and you never shout pain. My mother is like a bright light at night. When I lose my way, she will guide me, illuminate me and walk towards the light. My mother is like the bright moon on an autumn night. When I am lonely and helpless, she will accompany me, support me and give me full confidence. Mom, she is busy all day for me, tireless, no regrets, so on this annual Mother's Day, I want to say, thank you! I love you! Praise your mother-this document is addressed to all mothers in the world, whether they are poor or rich. Mom, can you brush off the frost that has turned gray on your temples with the hands of dead tree skins? I know that the bow of the red ribbon bleached the black hair that I remember for a long time. Mom, as if nothing had happened, you can still gently twist your loose teeth. Singing songs with fresh childhood memories, laughing and crying, memories are snakes of missing. Draw a word and move forward in a zigzag way. My mother, who has residual pain in this life, still licks my arrogant poison with this cracked tongue core. I will never grow up in front of you, so a vague topic called maternal love is undoubtedly a wanderer and the most stupid person who hurts his mother. You used to be as famous as chrysanthemum, and you are old. There are still some fragrant silk on the edge of the white porcelain bottle. I have brushed my love heart in sports, but I still can't hide your concern. The crazy autumn wind has begun. Even in the lonely shadow, mom, don't catch cold. No matter when and where, the sunset depends on a crutch called a child. You, the seeds covered with vegetation on fertile soil are sprouting and growing, and I, at this moment. I just want to hear you call my name. In a trance, mother, I seem to be back in the yard, the mother who drew water from the well when I was a child-Mother's Day is dedicated to all mothers in the world. Your silver hair, rickety body and lonely figure are all old. You associate with the neighboring village, you are 80 years old, and you still draw water yourself. Cooking by yourself, you still cling to my childhood dream hometown. It is the pride of your life to raise our four children all your life. The pigeons you let go are the concern of your life and the hope of survival. Every time I mention being nice to people, I always have a smile on my face. How can a mother who has gone through a lot of hardships write a thousand words with a blunt pen? My eternal mother, when I first opened my newborn eyes, the first thing I saw was her mother's incomparable holiness. Loving eyes and tears of joy-staring at you unblinkingly, your ignorant heart beats instinctively, but you can't express your affection. It's just that dancing around makes you anxious-you can't help crying loudly. After many days and nights of cultivation, you finally sit up straight. Your little body will never wait after adjusting its EQ and IQ. I shouted out the most precious first voice in my life-mom, which is the most touching original meaning. No matter how many languages are floating in the world, only this sound is absolutely the same, and there is no music. No poem can be more touching than this one. Fifty-five spring trips to Qiu Lai in 20075 were washed away by the wind and rain, leaving behind the floating dust of the years. This towering tree with well-developed roots has been dyed with white hair by frost and turned into elegant wrinkles. It is like an endless umbilical cord, and it is not only the reproduction of surnames that is connected by blood. Hurry up and grab your mother's hand. The road to heaven is too dark. Mom is afraid that you will touch your head. Hold mom's hand and let mom walk with you, mom. I'm afraid the road to heaven is too dark to see you. Since the collapse of the wall, my hand has taken away the sunshine. I will never see your gentle eyes again. Go ahead, son. There is no sorrow ahead. There is no textbook that you can't finish reading. No father's fist. You should remember when my father and I came here, and we were going to walk together. Mom, don't worry about the way to heaven. There are many classmates and friends. We said we wouldn't cry. Mothers are all our mothers, and every child is a mother's child. Give love to the living children without me, mom. Don't cry, tears can't light our way, let's walk slowly. Mom, I will remember you and dad, and remember that we agreed to go together in the next life.