Author: Tagore, India
I don't remember my mother, just in the middle of the game.
Sometimes there seems to be a tune spinning on my toy.
It was she who shook my cradle and hummed those songs.
I don't remember my mother, but in the early autumn morning.
The smell of acacia flowers and morning prayers in temples is floating in the air.
It's like blowing my mom's breath on me.
I don't remember my mother, but when I was in the bedroom window.
Looking at the blue sky in the distance, I think,
My mother fixed my eyes and filled the whole sky.
2. "Ji Hai's Miscellaneous Poems, Disturbing and Leaving Sorrow, Ignoring the Sky"
Qing Dynasty: Gong Zizhen
The vast sadness of parting extends to the setting sun, away from Beijing, riding a whip to the east, feeling that people are on earth.
I quit my job and go home, just like a flower falling from a branch, but this is not a heartless thing. It can be turned into the soil of spring and can also play a role in nurturing the next generation.
"The sadness of parting extends to the distant place where the sun goes down." When I left Beijing, I felt that I was at the end of the world with a flick of my whip to the east. I quit my job and went home, just like a flower falling from a branch, but it was not a heartless thing. It has become the soil of spring and can also play a role in cultivating the next generation.
3. Ode to the teacher
Author: Modern: Liu Yu
Others get gold from life.
You can only get flowers.
Your gold is the morning sun.
Your silver is the moon of the fifteenth.
But you still whistle happily.
Your pride is the fragrance of peaches and plums
4. "Diligence"
Jin Dynasty: Ge Hong
The kindness of the master is more important than that of the parents.
The kindness of a wise teacher? ,? Better than the vastness of heaven and earth, and more than my father has done for me.
5. "Mother"
Author: Modern Shu Ting
Isn't the running water of the years just as ruthless?
I'm afraid the memory will fade, too.
How dare I open its screen easily? I cried to you for a thorn.
Now I'm wearing a Jing Guan, and I dare not.
I dare not moan.
Ah, mom.
I often look up at your photos sadly.
Even if the call can penetrate the loess
How dare I disturb your sleep? I dare not show the sacrifice of love like this.
Although I have written many songs.
For flowers, for the sea, for the dawn.
Ah, mom.
My sweet, soft and deep memory.
Not a torrent, not a waterfall.
It's a dry well, and it can't sing under the shade of flowers and trees.