It's raining sparsely,
Weak birds hide in their nests;
With the loss and sadness in my heart,
I can only throw myself into your warm arms.
Motherly love is like an idyll, far away and pure, elegant and light;
Motherly love is a landscape painting. Wash away the lead carving and leave it fresh and natural.
Motherly love is like a affectionate song, melodious and melodious, singing softly;
Motherly love is a warm wind, which blows away the snow and brings infinite spring.
Mother, I praise you, you are a lifetime of laughter;
Mother, I praise you, you are the lingering thoughts of wandering around the world;
Mother, I praise you, you are the concern and anxiety of the child before his deathbed;
Mom, I praise you. You are the ardent expectation of children's growth.
Maternal love is the eternal theme of human beings.
We give it too many interpretations and too many connotations.
There is no soul-stirring historical epic, no shocking reversal of stormy waves, and a mother's love is like a spring rain, a clear song, which moistens things silently and long.