Author: Tagore
If I become a golden flower,
Just for fun, growing on the high branches of that tree,
Laughing and trembling in the wind,
Dancing on the new leaves again,
Mom, will you know me?
If you cry and say, "Where are you, son?" "
I secretly laughed there, but I was silent.
I will quietly open my petals and watch you work.
When taking a bath, my wet hair falls over my shoulders and passes through the golden flowers shaded by green trees.
When you go to the small courtyard of prayer, you will smell the fragrance of this flower.
But I didn't know the smell came from me.
2. Poems about maternal love (foreign countries or ancient and modern China) Mother, can you use the hands of dead tree skins?
Brush off the frost that has turned gray on your temples? I know
The bow of the red ribbon bleached the black hair in my memory.
It's been a long time. Mother, as if nothing had happened.
Or wriggle a loose tooth gently?
It's neither too tight nor too slow. Laugh in tears
Sing some songs that are still fresh in my childhood.
Memory is the snake of missing. Draw a word
Winding forward, my bitter ink in this life.
Mom, are you still willing to use this cracked tongue core?
Lick my arrogant poison. I am in front of you.
Always a child who doesn't grow up.
So there is a vague topic called maternal love.
It is undoubtedly the stupidest injury to a wanderer.
Mom, you are old. You used to be as famous as chrysanthemums.
The edge of the white porcelain bottle has your residual medicine fragrance.
Plain silk was very popular in the old days. manage
Brushed the heart of love, but still
I can't hide your crazy concern.
The autumn wind has started. Even in the shadow of loneliness, mom
Don't catch cold either. No matter when and where
Sunset depends on a crutch called a child.
And you, on fertile soil.
Seeds covered with vegetation are sprouting and growing.
And I, at the moment. I just want to hear your call.
My real name. In a trance, mother
I seem to be back in the yard, next to the well where I drew water as a child.
3. Write foreign modern poems and ancient poems about maternal love. Give it to my mother.
Goethe
Although I haven't said hello to you for a long time,
I didn't write to you, but don't let your heart
Doubt, as if your son should.
My deep love for you comes from my chest.
Disappear. Nothing like that stone,
Always rooted in the bottom of the water,
It will never leave its position, even if it is running water.
Sometimes with wind and waves, sometimes with soft waves through it.
It flows by, so people can't see it,
My love for you is so inseparable.
In my chest, despite the long river of life,
Sometimes I am hit by pain and roll violently.
Sometimes quietly caressed by happiness,
Coverage and blockade make it impossible.
You can't reflect around the sun.
The returning sunshine is in front of your loving mother.
Let you know how much your son respects you.
Note: Selected from Selected Poems on Foreign Topics (Baihua Literature and Art Publishing House, 1994 edition). Translated by Qian Chunkun. The next poem comes from the same source. Goethe (1749-1832) is a German poet, novelist and thinker. His masterpieces include the poetic drama Faust and the novel young werther. This poem was written in May 1767.
4. The English poem "Mother Maheri" about maternal love [English prose] Ode to a loving mother
There is a place in my heart.
No Colleen could have it;
Deep in my soul
Never made a sound or was unknown;
There is a place in my memory.
You filled my life;
No one can take it away
No one will;
Every kind of sadness or worry
In the past days;
Be lit up by the light
The smile in your eyes;
Like a lighted candle.
In a window at night;
Your affectionate love makes me happy.
Guide me to the right path.
Of course I love dear silver.
Shine in your hair;
And a wrinkled forehead
Wrinkle with worry;
I kiss my dear fingers.
So hard work warms me;
Oh! God bless you.
Let you, mother Maheri!
In my heart.
There is a place that is unfathomable.
Its territory has never been heard of.
No girl can be interested;
In my memory.
My life is full of you.
No one can replace it.
No one will have such a real feeling;
Precious time has passed.
Efforts and troubles never stop.
The smile in your eyes, its brilliance
Turn troubles into light;
Like a lighted candle.
Through the window lattice at night
Your affectionate love inspires me.
Lead me forward all the time;
Yes, I love you like silver hair.
Shining with affectionate light
I like the wrinkles on your forehead.
Years of vicissitudes.
I kiss your industrious fingers.
Gentle hands warm my heart;
Ah, the loving mother is in my heart
God bless, long life!
When we were teenagers, we lived in a world different from our mothers, in which mothers were always on the edge. Of course, almost everyone has one; They are inevitable troubles. Today, when I was near that edge, I looked at my mother with different eyes because I had a teenage daughter. Sometimes I wish I could stop the years and stop her from getting old and repeating her experiences. As children, we live in a different world from our mother, and we live in a world monitored by our mother.
Of course, almost everyone has such a world, which is an inevitable worry. Now, when I am also in the guardianship position, when I also become a girl's mother, I begin to look at my mother from another angle.
Sometimes, I wish I could stop time and stop my mother from getting old and nagging over and over again. We sat at my dining table, and the sun designed a mosaic of light on the tile floor. My daughter Anna is sitting next to my mother. "When will Rick come here?" My mother asked, reflecting to my husband. "I don't know, Mom," I answered patiently. "He will come for dinner." We sat at the dining table, and the sun shone on the floor, forming a mosaic-like spot.
My daughter Anna is sitting next to my mother. "When will Rick come?" Mom asked.
Rick is my husband. "I don't know, Mom," I answered patiently. "He will come here for dinner."
I sighed and stood up from the table. This is at least the tenth time she has asked this question in a few minutes. While my mother and daughter were playing Mon O poly, I was busy making salad myself. "No onions," said Mom. "You know how much dad hates his son." I sighed and stood up. In a short time, she has asked more than ten times.
Mother and daughter are playing chess, while I am busy making salad. "No onions," said Mom. "You know how much your father hates onions."
"Yes, Mom," I replied, shoving the onion back into the refrigerator. I peeled off a carrot and cut it into bite-sized pieces. I thrust the knife into the carrot with greater force, and it is necessary to be grateful. A piece fell on the floor. "Yes, Mom." I replied, stuffing onions into the refrigerator again.
I washed a carrot and cut it into small pieces. I tried my best to stab the knife into the carrot.
A piece of rob fell to the ground. "Don't put onions in the salad," she reminded me. "You know how much Dad hates onions." I can't answer this time. I just keep cutting. Cut vegetables. Tear. If only I could cut off these leaves. Tear up the years on my mother's face and hands. "Don't put onions in the salad," she reminded me. "You know how much your father hates onions."
I didn't answer this time. I just kept cutting, chopping and crying.
If only I could sweep away the time that has passed over the years. Smooth the vicissitudes of mother's face and hands.
My mother is very beautiful. She still is. In fact, my mother is still the same as before, just a little ambitious. I tried to convince myself that this was the case. If she was really focused, she wouldn't repeat herself so much. There is always a beautiful mother. I still do.
Actually, my mother hasn't changed much, just a little forgetful. I tried to convince myself that this was the problem. If she could really concentrate, she wouldn't be so nagging.
There's nothing wrong with her. I cut off the end of the cucumber and rubbed it against the cucumber stem to remove the bitterness. White juice oozes from both sides. Wouldn't it be great if all unpleasant situations could be remedied so easily? Cutting and rubbing. This is a trick I learned from my mother, and there are countless other things: cooking, sewing, dating, laughing and thinking. I learned how to grow. I learned the art of sorting out my emotions. I cut off one end of the cucumber and rubbed it on it to eliminate the bitterness.
White juice oozes from the side. Wouldn't it be great if all unhappiness could be solved so easily? Cut it off and rub it.
This is a trick I learned from my mother. Besides, there are countless things: cooking, sewing, dating, laughing and thinking. I learned how to grow up and the art of dealing with feelings.
I've learned that I never need to be afraid when my mother is around. So why am I afraid now? And I know that as long as my mother is around, nothing can scare me. So why am I scared now? I study my mother's hands. Her nails are no longer bright red, but painted pale pink, with almost no color. When I stared at them, I realized that I no longer looked at those hands, but felt that they shaped my youth. These hands packed a thousand lunches and wiped a million cups of tea off my cheeks. Every day of my life, those confident hands. I studied my mother's hand carefully.
Her nails are no longer bright red, but painted pale pink, almost pale. When I look at these hands, I find that I am no longer looking at them, but feeling these hands that shape my youth.
This is a pair of hands that have packed thousands of lunches for me and wiped tears from my cheeks countless times. It is a pair of hands that give me confidence every day of my life. I turned around and threw the cucumber into the bowl. Then it suddenly occurred to me. Mine.
6. Please tell me the poems about maternal love written in foreign countries (please also tell me the name).
Blown into the air by every ordinary wind;
I accidentally said it and died at birth.
Give people hope and fear in an instant:
Breathe all contradictions with the same wind
According to the capriciousness of the mind.
But Billetdoux is a constant witness,
A large number of records to eternity;
Impartial evidence, truth recognition,
Lovers can safely rely on;
They are serious thoughts, digested and solved;
Finally, when words turn into clouds.
7. Foreign poetry expresses the golden flower of maternal love. Tagore's Birds
If I become a golden flower, for fun,
Growing on a tall branch, swinging in the air with a smile,
Mom, will you still know me?
If you yell, "Where are you, son?"
I snickered there, but didn't say a word.
I will quietly open my petals and watch you work.
When taking a bath, my wet hair falls over my shoulders and passes through the golden flowers shaded by green trees.
When you go to the small courtyard of prayer, you will smell the flowers.
But I didn't know the smell came from me.
After lunch, I sat at the window and read y m 4 n.
When the shadow of that tree falls on your hair and knees,
I want to cast my little shadow on your page,
Right where you are reading.
But can you guess that this is a small shadow of your child?
When you take the lamp to the cowshed at dusk,
I'm going to suddenly fall to the ground again,
To be your child again, please tell me a story.
"Where have you been, you bad boy?"
"I won't tell you, mom."
That's what you and I were trying to say.
8. Modern foreign poems praising mothers (1)
Your greatness has condensed my flesh and blood.
Your greatness has shaped my soul
Your life is a journey of love
You use beautiful annual rings
Weave calendars with fragrant ink.
I spend every year in your love.
Play with your shoulders and knees.
(2)
You are a big tree.
Spring depends on your fantasy.
Summer depends on your prosperity.
Autumn depends on your maturity.
Rely on your meditation in winter
Your tall and wide crown ~
Let the fields never be barren.
Mom, you gave me life.
You are the land where I grew up.
(3)
When you are sad, you will be comforted.
When you are depressed, you hope.
When you are weak, you are strength.
Take shelter from the wind and rain in your little bay
You have broadened my horizons.
You are my best friend forever and the driving force of life.
(4)
You leaned over and guarded with love and caution.
You show your clever mind to your heart's content
Your exuberant energy and bright smile.
Your boiling blood keeps flowing.
(5)
Let me immerse myself in your joy.
Let me enjoy your warmth.
Let me be intoxicated in your arms
Let me snuggle up in your arms
(6)
There are faint poems in the long clouds.
There is continuous love in a faint poem.
There is affection in constant love.
Affectionate and meaningful.
(7)
If mother is rain, then I am a rainbow after rain.
If my mother is the moon, then I am the star holding the moon.
Mother is the foundation of my growth.
I am my mother's ideal fruit.
(8)
When I grow up, my mother's black hair is like a maple leaf.
The frost sparkled with silver stars.
I deeply kissed the traces of those years j)'
Give you my heart.
(9)
May fragrance and mellow fragrance haunt your life.
May my silvery laughter fill your brow.
May all my blessings rub into your heart.
A green leaf is full of its friendship with the roots.
An ode condensed my love for you. "
Let the flowers in your heart bloom like clouds.
Let the fragrance accompany you through the long years.
9. Write foreign modern poems and ancient poems about maternal love. To my mother Goethe, although she hasn't greeted you for a long time and wrote to you, don't let your heart doubt, as if your son's due love for you has disappeared from my chest.
Not at all, just like the stone that has taken root at the bottom of the water forever, it will never leave its original place, even if it is running water, sometimes there are storms, and sometimes there are soft waves flowing through it, making people invisible. My love for you is inseparable from my chest, even though the long river of life is sometimes whipped by pain, violently rolled, and sometimes quietly caressed by joy. Note: Selected from Selected Poems on Foreign Topics (Baihua Literature and Art Publishing House, 1994 edition).
Translated by Qian Chunkun. The next poem comes from the same source.
Goethe (1749-1832) is a German poet, novelist and thinker. His masterpieces include the poetic drama Faust and the novel young werther.
This poem was written in May 1767.
10. An English poem about maternal love [English prose] is dedicated to a loving mother. There is a place in my heart that no one can have; In my soul, there is a depth that has never been seen before. In my memory life, there is a place that you filled; No one can take it, and no one will take it; In the past days, all the sadness and anxiety; Illuminated by the smile in your eyes; Like a candle placed by the window at night; Your affectionate love inspired me and guided me in the right direction; Of course, I love the silver light shining in your hair; And the forehead wrinkled with worry; I kissed my dear finger, warming my hard work; Oh! God bless you! God bless you, Mama Macquarie! There is a place in my heart, unfathomable, which no girl has ever heard of. In my memory, my life is full of your figure, and no one can ever replace it. Precious time goes by, hard work and troubles never stop smiling in your eyes, and its brilliance turns troubles into light; Like a lighted candle shining through the window lattice in the middle of the night, your affectionate love inspires me and leads me forward; Yes, I love you, shining with affection like silver hair. I love the wrinkles on your forehead and the vicissitudes of life. I kiss your hardworking fingers and warm my heart with tenderness. Ah, the loving mother is blessed in my heart, and I will live forever.