I? The mountains are not as high as our mother's love; the sea is not as deep as our mother's love; the sky is not as wide as our mother's love; the earth is not as tolerant as our mother's love; the sun is not as warm as our mother's love; the clouds are not as white as our mother's love; the flowers are not as bright as our mother's love. Mom 2 Who dresses us when we're cold? Who cooks for us when we are hungry? Who encourages us when we fail and rejoices when we succeed? She is not a robot; she is not a computer, she is my mom. Mom is not Santa Maria, nor Jesus, nor God, but she is as gentle and kind as Santa Maria, as loving as Jesus, and as wise as God. Aah! Mom is great! Maybe the years have taken away your beauty and left you with gray hair, but it can never take away your kind smile? Mom, on this special day, let me offer my sincerest thanks! My mother, thank you My beloved mother, I can't say enough, I can't write enough, everything, is in words. The Angel of Spring Mother is like the angel of spring, sending warm spring winds, bringing light rain, blowing into the hearts of children, understanding the needs of children, this loving angel, taking care of children's lives, protecting children's safety, and giving everything, no matter how bad we are, this angel of a mother still has the measure of the sea, to forgive us. Mom's love is like a piece of sugar. Mom's love is like a piece of sugar, wrapped in nagging, hidden in scolding, letting me look for it, until I know what to do, only to find it.
Expanded:
Mother is like the moon, shining on my door and window, holy and kind, emitting the light of love. For the sake of the children, not afraid of the dark clouds blocking, give me warmth, encourage me to go up. Mother, I love you, I love you, I love you, you're great. Mother is like a star, shining on my door and window, holy and kind, emitting the light of love. I'm from chance, like a piece of dust, who can see my fragility Where I come from, where I love, who calls me in the next moment Heaven and earth is wide, this road is difficult to walk, I have seen all the bumps and bruises on this earth How much love I still have, how many tears I still have, to the heavens to know that I do not concede Thanksgiving heart, thanks to you, accompanied by a lifetime of my life, so that I have the courage to do my own Thanksgiving heart, thanks to you, blossoms and falls I'll be the same I love you, Mother. - Mother! I love you. I love you, you taught us to endure hardship, you taught us to strive for success, the scenes of our childhood are often in our dreams, our mother's love will never be forgotten, our mother's kindness will never be forgotten, even if it's a shocking wave, even if it's a frosty day, with you, mother, everyone is willing to struggle, everyone will become a great man, a hymn dedicated to our mother, a mother as humble as the moss, as solemn as the sunshine, as soft as the sound of the water of the south of the Yangtze River, as firm as the jade of the last thousand years, as strong as the jade of the millennium, as strong as the moon. When you look up, she's the bright moon, when you look down, she's the cold jade of a thousand years. Chronic stomach problems are a nightmare that has haunted your thin figure for many years, a bitter water that chokes your heart, a malaria that can't be digested or spit out, a malaria that can't be removed, a malaria that you reproduce, a malaria that you can't get rid of, a malaria that you cannot get rid of, the pain you feel when you curl up in your bed, a malaria that still pains me to this day. The wrinkles on your forehead are the rows of the terraced fields, the waves of the village river, the old age spots on your arms, the scars of that year's drought, the exhaustion of your youth and sweat, your life's work for your children, your aging, your calmness, never complaining, never complaining, never complaining, never crying out in pain, mother is like a light in the darkness of the night, she guides me, she illuminates me, she leads me to the light, mother, mother is like the moon in the night of Autumn. Mother, like the moon in the autumn night, when I'm lonely and helpless, she keeps me company, supports me, and gives me confidence. Mother, she works hard for me all day long, without complaint, so on this annual Mother's Day, I say, "Thank you, Mom. I love you! In Praise of Mothers - This poem is dedicated to all mothers in the world, whether poor or rich. Mother, can you brush away the gray of your temples with the hand of a dead tree? I know it's been a long time since the red ribbon bow bleached the black hair of memory. Mother, as if nothing had happened, you still gently move a mouth of loose teeth, not slowing down. And with a smile from the curtain of tears, you sing the songs of your childhood that are still fresh, memories that are snakes of longing. A single word is drawn out, and it winds its way through the remnants of my life's pain. Mother, you still don't hesitate to lick the poison of my pride with your dry tongue. In front of you, I will always be a child that never grows up, so the topic of a vague kind of mother's love is undoubtedly the most stupid wound of the traveler's son. Mother, the person whose name was once like a chrysanthemum, you're getting old, and the edge of the white vase has the scent of the medicine you're left with, and it's deep in the silk of the old years. The old days of wiping through the heart of love and care are still there, but the winds of autumn have risen. Don't catch a cold even if you're alone, Mother. Whenever and wherever the sun sets, it clings to a crutch called a son or daughter, and on the fertile soil you've nurtured, the planted seeds are sprouting and growing, and I, at this moment, just want to hear you call out to me, to me, to me, to me. I just want to hear you call me by my first name. In a trance, Mother, I feel like I'm back in the courtyard by the well where I drew water when I was a child, Mother, Mother, to all the mothers of the world on Mother's Day, with your gray hair, your hunched body, your lonely figure, you're old. At 80 years of age, you still fetch your own water and cook your own food, and you still guard my childhood home, the home of my dreams. You've raised four sons and daughters, and they're the pride of your life, and the pigeons you fly are your lifelong concern, your hope for survival, and the smiles on your kind face whenever you mention them to someone. Mother, I've been through a lot, and I've been through a lot, and I've been through a lot, and I've been through a lot, so how can a dull, clumsy brush be able to write all the things I'm thinking of, but I'm thinking about my feelings, which are eternal, and I'm thinking about how you're going to be happy. Mother, when you first opened your newborn eyes, the first thing you saw was your mother's immense holiness, her loving gaze, her tears of joy, her unblinking eyes, her eyes staring at you so intently that your heart instinctively beat in its hazy ignorance, but it couldn't express its affection, only its limbs fluttered, and you couldn't help crying out loud. -After many days and nights of nurturing, you finally sat up straight and adjusted your emotional and intellectual intelligence, and without waiting, you cried out the most precious first sound in your life, "Mama", which is the most touching and primitive sound of all, no matter how many languages the world may speak, only this cry is absolutely the same. No music, no poetry can be more touching than this cry 55 years of spring and autumn, 20,715 days of rain and wind, washed away the dust of the years, leaving behind a tree with a well-developed root system and a flourishing foliage. Frost-stained white hairs, transmogrified into green threads, wrinkles like carvings, transformed into a thousand strands of roots, an umbilical cord that can never be broken, and bloodlines that are connected, not only by family name, child, hurry up, hold on to your mother's hand. The road to heaven is too dark, I'm afraid you'll bump your head, hold on to your mother's hand and let me walk with you, I'm afraid the road to heaven is too dark, I can't see your hand, I can't see your soft eyes since the collapsing wall has taken the sunlight away, I can't see your soft eyes any more, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go! The road to heaven is a bit urgent, there are many classmates and friends, we said no crying, no crying, every mother is our mother, every child is our mother's child, in the days when there is no me, you give your love to the children who are still alive, mother, don't cry, tears can't light up our road, let us walk slowly, mother, I will remember you and father's faces, remember our promise, we have to walk together again in the next life.