Cixi wrote an immortal family poem. Everyone knows the last sentence. What is the full text of this poem?

When watching TV, we can't help sighing at the parents who work hard for their children every day. The poor inherit the wind? .

And then this sentence makes people blurt out? The poor inherit the wind? Do you know its origin? I looked for it on purpose, so it doesn't matter if I don't look. I was so scared that I couldn't type. Who would have thought that Empress Dowager Cixi, who held a political power in the Great Qing Dynasty, was so versatile and the key people were very filial, but the officials at that time were dissatisfied with her. Why?

Because the emperor at that time was overwhelmed by the peasant uprising in Britain and France, his health went from bad to worse, and finally he couldn't even write well. At that time, Yi Guifei (now Empress Dowager Cixi) was deeply loved by the emperor. The emperor dictated Yi Guifei to write for him, but even so, the health of the emperor's old son was getting worse every day, and finally he was too painful to even think about it. Yi Guifei can't see that the emperor is sick and wants to work hard for the country. At this time, our beautiful and clever Yi Guifei showed her great role. She will give the emperor some advice, and the emperor will think that her advice is just right. Then these things reached the ears of court officials, making them feel that their men's self-esteem was insulted and their IQ was crushed. So they were all very unhappy about Yi Guifei's political career, but the emperor was in poor health at that time, and no one could do it.

From then on, Empress Dowager Cixi came out, but who would have thought that such a strong woman was still a woman? Poet? On the birthday of Empress Dowager Cixi's mother, she personally wrote a poem "Happy Birthday to Mother", but the last sentence in it is familiar to both a three-year-old child and an 80-year-old man, but no one knows the whole poem. I specially checked the information and found the full text of this poem:

Birthday poem for mother

? Parents are the most authentic in the world, and tears and blood are dissolved into children.

? Exhausted, and finally a child. The poor inherit the wind.