The following are some modern poems praising mother shared by 5 1.com. Welcome to read the reference! Modern Poems in Praise of Mother Selected Modern Poems Written for Mother: Bingxin Mother, I have long wanted to write a poem for you. But I wrote it many times, but I still didn't write it well. Mom, I don't know how to start this poem for you, how to end it and what to write. Just like when I was a child, I slapped you hard. I don't know whether to accept it bravely or choose to escape. Mom, I thought of you again tonight, and I decided to write a poem for you. Even if you don't write well, even if you are far from home, you will never read … Mom, if you see a white boat in your dream. Don't be surprised that he fell asleep for no reason. It was your beloved daughter with tears in her eyes. Wan Shui Qian Shan begged him to take her love and sorrow home. "Paper Boat" is a modern collection of poems praising mother, which is given to mother. Author: Bing Xin, a piece of paper, never refuses to throw it away, but keeps it-keeps it, folds it into a boat and throws it into the sea. Some were blown into the window of the ship by the wind, and some were wet by the waves and stuck to the bow. I still keep folding them up every day, hoping that one of them can only flow where I want it to go. Mom, if you see a white boat in your dream, don't be surprised that it dreams for no reason. This is your beloved daughter with tears in her eyes. Wanshui Qian Shan, please let it go home with her love and sorrow! Shu Ting, your pale fingertips caressed my sideburns, and I couldn't help but hold on to your skirt as I did when I was a child. Oh, mother, in order to keep your drifting figure, although the morning light has cut your dream into smoke, I still dare not open my eyes for a long time. I still cherish that bright red scarf, for fear that washing will make it lose your unique warmth. Oh, mother, the running water of the years is as ruthless, for fear that the memory will fade, how can I open its screen easily? I cried to you for a thorn. Now I'm wearing a jingguan, and I dare not moan. Oh, mom, I often look up at your photos sadly, even though that call can penetrate the loess. How dare I disturb your sleep? I dare not show the sacrifice of love like this. Although I wrote many songs, for flowers, for the sea, for the dawn. Oh, mom, my sweet and tender memories. Not a torrent, not a waterfall, but a dry well that flowers and trees can't sing.