Author: Yier [348 1 14752] Time: 2005-11-23 22: 56: 54 Collection alarm.
Mother, I sat in a foreign land at night, writing unwritten poems. In such a silent night, the warmth from the fingertips is like the oil lamp lit by my mother when I was a child, and the lonely crack of the keyboard is like your busy footsteps at night. I miss my mother in your hometown.
Sitting in the corner of this beautiful town in the distance, looking up at the starry sky, the wind blows through my hair, so the night wind must be blowing from the bamboo forest in my hometown, as gentle as you touch my head. Mother, my heart misses you in a foreign land at night. I hope you can suddenly call your baby name behind me at this moment.
How far away from home, the mother's heart is deeply concerned about her children. You, who have left the suffering and the cold wind outside your door behind, must still be thinking about the children in a foreign land at the quiet night in your hometown. You shed tears and sweat, and set sail for us behind us. We are getting farther and farther away, and your figure is getting smaller and smaller. We'll never see your waving arms clearly again.
Sit by the window. The street lamp outside the window is flashing, and occasionally there is a cough, such as your tired sigh at night. The shadow of a middle-aged woman is getting longer and longer under the street lamp, which reminds me of your gentle back like water, your smile in the long years, every note of bitterness and joy you played, and the music of the season.
You walk in the fragrant rice fields in the morning with the morning glow, and you are busy with the hope of every leaf. At noon, with pearl-like sweat, you are holding green plums and red mold, calling for children and laughing. At dusk, you bring the last sunset, light up the orange-red warmth for the dark room, and the night begins in your busy housework.
You sow the seeds of hope, selfless love, peace and blessing in the green of spring. You bring coolness and relaxation in summer dusk, decorate autumn with golden yellow, and bring joy and hope of harvest.
You stood in my fragile childhood, sheltered us from the cold wind in the cold winter night, pulled a coat for us under the flickering oil lamp, and we were wrapped in layers of warmth, and the feeling of winter wandered in your stitches.
Skinny you, walking in hard times, pick up handfuls of bitter food for us and erase scars for us. Hold up a clear sky and light a warm stove for us in the cold. Sew deep love and deep care into one piece after another.
The roof is frosted, the gravel road is getting slippery, and the granary is full of millet. Your hands must still be busy in ice water, and your thin figure must still be busy in winter. Childhood fairy tales have found heaven on your back.
You raised us with the lunar calendar and silence, and you stuck to the hot garden of your hometown year after year. Spring water and cooking smoke accompany you every day. Mother, the face of your hometown is getting newer and newer, but your face is getting older and older with age. In the sunshine, you stare at the small cement road at the entrance of the village with infinite tenderness.
Your back is not so straight, there are several wrinkles on your face, your white hair is quietly covered with your black hair, and the thread in your hand can no longer pass through that little eye of a needle. You watched us grow up quietly, and we watched you grow old from a distance. You lit up our starry sky with oil lamps, you kept suffering and sewing, you wiped away tears with thoughts, and you repaired us with years.
How far away from home, how deep homesickness is. Mom, it's winter. Is the wind still blowing like that? Is the sun warm? Is the clothes thick enough? The river at home must be shallow, your heart must be full, and the wanderer's heart is full of thoughts about you.
-
/wlwy/go.asp？ id= 1 135
/diary_public.asp？ id=96 1005
/article/emotion/motherhood/200512/1919.html
/bbs/ReadFile？ whichfile= 1386028。 typeid = 26 & ampopenfile= 1
/BBS/htm _ data/ 13/040 1/ 1937 . html
/s？ F8 % C4 % B8 % C7 % D7 % B5 % C4 % D0 % C5 & amp； lm = 0 & ampsi = & amprn= 10。 ie = GB 23 12 & amp； ct = 0 & ampcl = 3 & ampf= 1。 rsp=2