Modern poems about affection

"A Kindred Tree", "Nostalgia", "Kindred Love", "Paper Boat - Sent to Mother", "Mother", and so on. 1. "A Tree of Affection" by Nuria Roca (Nuria Roca) How like a balsam camphor living lushly in the earthly world We are a leaf living on a tree The leaf of my grandfather's life falls down The leaf of my father's life is tender and green again The leaf of my father's life falls down The bud of my life is tender again The leaf of my life falls down There are still leaves of my son's life in the tree that are bright and green Heh Tree of Affection The Noble Tree, The Evergreen Tree The leaves of my life fall, and the leaves of my son are green, and the leaves of my son are green. One Family Tree, Two Substances, and Three Useful R's are linked by numbers to explain the family history, natural substances and man-made processing, as well as environmental themes such as reusing and reducing pollution. A fun game and hands-on session is also set at the end of each book, which is highly operational and enhances the appeal. 2. Nostalgia By Yu Guangzhong When I was a child, nostalgia was a small postage stamp, with me at this end and my mother at that end. When I grew up, nostalgia was a narrow boat ticket, I was at this end, the bride was at that end. Later, nostalgia was a short grave, with me on the outside and my mother on the inside. Now, nostalgia is a shallow strait, with me here and the mainland there. Nostalgia is a modern poem written by the poet Yu Guangzhong. The poem expresses the sentiment of being nostalgic for one's hometown. The poem also reflects the poet Yu Guangzhong's hope for the early unification of the Chinese nation. As a contemporary poet who has been away from the mainland for more than thirty years, Yu Guangzhong's works are bound to be y imprinted by the times. 3、The Love of Kinship? I do not know the depth of a mother's love, I do not know the trickle of a father's love, silently, dress my heart. I don't know the depth of my mother's love, I don't know the trickle of my father's love, which silently dresses my heart. I stroll along, in the hidden spring, into the uncertainty, into the gravel, and turn into a trickle of fine streams. 4、《Paper Boat - Sending Mother》 By：Bing Xin I never want to give up a piece of paper, always keep - keep, folded into a very small boat, from the boat thrown down in the sea. Some of them were blown by the wind into the windows of the boat, and some of them were wetted by the waves and stained on the bow of the boat. Still I folded them every day, hoping that one of them would go where I wanted it to go. Mother, if you see a very small boat in your dream, don't be surprised that it has come into your dream for no reason, it was folded by your beloved daughter with tears in her eyes, begging it to carry her love and sorrow back to her home. Paper Boat" is a poem written by Bing Xin on a sea boat on her way to study abroad in 1923, with the subtitle: Sending Mother. Eulogizing mother's love, childlike innocence and nature are the three major themes of Bing Xin's early literary creation. Written on the boat "Paper Boat", Bing Xin face the sea, to the heart of a child, send love to the mother's poetry, although only three stanzas of eleven lines, but the "three themes" are blended into it. In this poem, the poet with stacking paper boats to play the water as a child often play the game, send their own nostalgia for their mothers, kindly and naturally create a dream-like sentimental mood, can not help but make people tear up. 5. "Mother" By: Bing Xin Mother! When the storm in the sky comes, the birds hide in their nests; when the storm in my heart comes, I only hide in your arms. Mother" this poem is a rainy day she saw a large lotus leaves covering a branch of red lotus, touching the scene and write down. The whole text adopts the writing methods of "borrowing scenery to express emotion" and "objects to express the will" to express her deep love for her mother. The author first dipped into the deep feelings of the brush strokes, depicting a rain hit the red lotus, lotus leaves to protect the lotus rain, the author thus associated with the daughter of the mother's attachment to the mother's care for the daughter. The author borrowed the scene to express feelings, objects, and to lotus self-comparison, eulogizing the great love of the mother, natural and appropriate, novel and unique.　Childhood look at the father father is a mountain and I am a bird in the forest bird can never leave the mountain of inculcation childhood look at the mother mother is a blue lake and I am a fish ------ fish can never leave the embrace of the lake the mountain gives me a strong character lake give me the laughter of the water mountain evolution I fly feathers lake metamorphosis I cruise scales adult look at the father book father into a forest in the mountain and I am uplifted into a mountain house mountain When I look at my mother as an adult ------ my mother becomes a blade of grass in a lake, but I am a lake, a yellow blade of grass sheltering the lake's waves. Eternal mother, when I open my newborn eyes for the first time, the first thing I see is my mother's unparalleled holiness, her loving gaze, and her tears of joy, staring at you, blinking, staring at you carefully. After many days and nights of nurturing, you finally sat up straight, and after adjusting your emotional and intellectual intelligence, you never waited, but cried out your first, most precious cry. --Mother, this is the most touching and original cry, no matter how many languages are spoken in the world, only this cry is absolutely the same, and there is no music, no poetry that can be more touching than this one, the song of the wandering son, the mountains don't want to send the sun to go down, and the mercurial sailors don't want to sail away. Hope beckons. The world outside is my paradise, my free heart is flying. Mother, are you worried about me? My mother looks at me with anxiety. Mother, do you want me to have a better life? My mother looks at me with relief. Listen to the sound of the train's air, the whistle ...... and a hand clasped tightly through the window.　Nostalgia for Grandfather (2 Songs) By:Northwest by West Your loud coughing brought that shovel to finally heap up a grave on a strange hill, and it became your homecoming and my resting place Treading on the slanting sun I can sit here and look out in the distance But the heaviness of the yellow earth buries your sight, so that I can only think of you across the distant horizon The moisture of the earth is a handful of tears from last night's pillow I want to climb up to the heavenly ladder and make a fire and wait for you to hobble by to warm your legs Then there will be a long period of loneliness, like now, when all I can do is think of you in an empty space, when the pear trees you planted with your own hands are covered with snow, and the old house you built with your own hands is covered with dust, when my grandmother's sighs of relief are followed by gossip, which prolongs my eager sleeplessness in the night, and when I'll join my fathers and grandfathers in following your example of being a man of honor on the horizon, and when for two whole years you'll just lie down and not say a word and leave us to speculate about what's going on in the blue sky, and so I'll say on the yellow earth, "When the clouds are full of tear droplets and the clouds are full of tears. So I'm going to stand on the yellow earth and say, when the clouds are full of tears, you'd better close your eyes tightly, 2003.4.16 at Northwestern Normal University, in my dreams, I'll be in the rain, searching for you on the streets of the city, and the fires we used to build together, will dry the dampness in our hearts. Most of the time you drifted away, doing odd jobs as a janitor, not coming back for several spring seasons, and then we got used to your absence, but we couldn't face the picture on the table, and the grass on the grave withered and turned green and yellow, and when you got used to the dampness, you'd have asked me to keep you company in the sun, but a thousand days and nights went by, and you were never seen hobbling around again, and so I thought I'd light a candle in my dream, to drive the darkness away, and then, with half a box of matches, I'd hold it over my head, and I would hold it up to my head, and I would hold it up to my head. Half a box of matches will be held above my head as you held them when I was a child, and I'll burn all the crops, crumble them up and sprinkle them into the sky, and I'm sure you'll hear the grains of wheat laughing, and the sun will shine on another city, too. 2004.05.13 Lanzhou, Grandfather, when I came into the world, you laughed so brightly, when you left the world, and I cried silently, you laughed brightly and wonderfully, because your laughter was accompanied by a new life, and I cried so sadly, because my crying couldn't prolong your half a day of life. I cried with sadness and weakness because my crying couldn't prolong your breath half an inch When I was little, you never held me, but I knew you loved me When I grew up, you couldn't hold me, but I knew I loved you Before you were born, my father told me that I wouldn't exist without you After you were gone, I told my father that we live on because you live on, so you have to forgive me for not being able to remember you every moment, but I promise that I'll never forget you and even if I do one day the pulse will remind me of you, and I'll be happy to know that you're here. Even if one day I do forget, the beating pulse will remind me that your blood lives on in me. The Dayan River - my nanny The Dayan River is my nanny. Her name is the name of the village where she was born, she was a child bride, and the Dayan River is my nanny. I am the son of a landlord, and the son of the River Dayan who grew up on the milk of the River Dayan. The Dayan River raised her family by raising me, and I was raised by eating your milk, O Dayan River, my nanny. Dayan River, today when I see snow it reminds me of you: your grass-covered grave pressed by snow, the dead wafers on the gable of your closed home, the one-square-foot garden that has been seized, and the mossy stone chairs in front of your door, Dayan River, today when I see snow it reminds me of you. You took me in your arms and caressed me with your thick palms; after you had built the fire, after you had patted the charcoal dust from your apron, after you had tasted the rice cooked, after you had put the dark bowl of sauce on the dark table, after you had mended your sons' clothes torn by the thorns of the hillside, after you had wrapped the hands of your children cut with a woodchopper, and after you had pinched the lice from your husband's shirt, one by one, and after you had taken out the lice from your children's shirts, and you had taken out the lice from their hands. After you had strangled the lice from your children's shirts, after you had picked up the first egg of the day, you took me in your arms and caressed me with your big, thick palms. I am the son of a landowner, and after I ate all your milk from the Dayan River, I was taken back to my own home by the parents who gave me birth. Ah, Dayan River, why are you crying? I'm a new guest in my parents' house! I touched the red lacquered and carved furniture, I touched the golden patterns on my parents' bed, I stared at the plaque on the eaves with the words "Tianlun Xuele" written on it, which I didn't recognize, I touched the silk and shell buttons of the new clothes I had changed into, I looked at my sister, whom I didn't know, in my mother's arms, I sat on the painted kangstool with the fire bowl, I ate rice, which I had studied thrice, but I didn't know what to do with it. I sat on a painted kangstool with a fire bowl, I ate triple-steamed white rice, but I was so coy! I've become a new guest in the house of my parents. The Dayan River, for the sake of life, after she had run out of her lotion, began to work with the arms that had held me; with a smile she washed our clothes, with a smile she carried the vegetable basket to the frozen pond by the village, with a smile she sliced the turnips with ice chips, with a smile she pulled out the wheat lees that the pigs ate with her hands, with a smile she fanned the fire of the stove for stewing, with a smile she carried the dustpan to the square to dry the soybeans and the wheat, and with a smile she carried the soybeans and the wheat, and with a smile she went to the square to sunbathe the beans and the wheat, and with a smile she went to the square to sunbathe the beans and the wheat. Those soybeans and wheat, the River Weir, for the sake of life, after she had drained her lotion, she worked with her arms over me. Dayanhe, who loved her baby; for whom she was busy slicing sugar from the winter rice during the festivals; for whom she used to walk quietly to her house at the edge of the village; for whom she called "Mom" when she came to her side; for whom she put her red and green Guan Yunchang on the wall by the stove; for whom she would praise her baby to her neighbors; for whom she used to be a woman; for whom she was a woman; for whom she used to be a woman; for whom she used to be a woman; for whom she used to be a woman; for whom she used to be a woman; for whom she used to be a woman; for whom she used to be a woman; for whom she used to be a woman. Dayanhe had a dream she couldn't tell anyone: in the dream, she ate her baby's wedding wine, sat on a brilliantly colored hall, and her beautiful daughter-in-law affectionately called her "mother-in-law." ......... ... The River Dayan loves her breast! The River Weir died before she awoke from her dream. When she died, her baby was not beside her; when she died, her husband, who usually scolded her, wept for her; her five sons, each of them wept sadly; when she died, she softly called out the name of her baby; Dayanhe, who was dead; when she died, her baby was not beside her. The River Weir went away with tears in her eyes! With forty years of abuse in human life, with the endless misery of slavery, with a four-dollar coffin and a few bundles of straw, with a few feet of land to bury the coffin, with a handful of ashes of paper money, Dayanhe went away with tears in her eyes. This is what Dayanhe didn't know: her drunken husband had died, her eldest son had become a bandit, her second had died in the smoke of artillery fire, and her third, fourth, and fifth had lived their lives amidst the scolding of their masters and landlords. And I, I was writing the spell that was given to this unjust world. When I return to my native land after my long wanderings, in the hillsides and fields, the brothers meet more intimately than they did six or seven years ago! This, this is for you, the quietly sleeping Dayan River, do not know! Today, weir, your breast is in prison, writing a hymn to you, to your purple soul under the yellow earth, to the straight outstretched hands with which you have embraced me, to the lips with which you have kissed me, to your mud-black, gentle face, to *** with which you have nourished me, to your sons, to my brothers, to all on earth, my weir-like nannies and their sons, to the weir, who loves me as her own son. To the weir who loves me as her own son. Weir, I am your son who grew up on your milk, I honor you and love you! 1933.1.14, Snow Day. (From "The Dayan River", Cultural Life Publishing House, first edition, August 1939) I've searched for you several times but I've never found you, and I still love you in my dreams. I've been looking for you for a long time, but I've never met you. We are on the same road of life. When the withered branches turn green, the spring breeze blows into ten million households. I don't remember my mother, but on early autumn mornings, when the scent of acacia floats through the air, and the fragrance of the temple's morning prayers seems to blow to me like a mother's, I don't remember my mother, but when I look out of my bedroom window at the distant blue sky, I feel as if my mother is still in my dreams. When I look out of my bedroom window at the distant blue sky, I feel as if my mother's gaze on my face fills the entire sky, and your loud coughing and that shovel, finally piling up a grave on an unfamiliar hill, has become your home and my resting place, and I can sit and look out at the slanting sun, but the heaviness of the soil buries your sight, and makes me think of you across the distant horizon, and I think of you, from a distance, in the wetness of the soil, as if it were a handful of tears from my pillow, and I want to climb up to the stairs of heaven, and build a fire, and wait for you to come hobbling up to me, warming the fire. I want to climb up the stairs to build a fire, wait for you to come and warm your legs, and then there will be a long period of loneliness, like now, when all I can do is to think of you in empty memories, when the pear trees you planted with your own hands are covered in snow, and the old mansion you built with your own hands is covered in dust, and when my grandmother sighs and gossips, which prolongs the sleeplessness of the darkness of the night, and when I join my fathers and grandfathers in following your example of being a man of the horizon, and when you lie down for two years, not saying a word, and letting us guess what's going on in the blue sky, so I'm going to stand on the yellow earth, so I'll stand on the yellow earth. That's why I'm going to stand on the yellow earth and say when the clouds are full of tears you'd better close your eyes tightly 2003.4.16 at Northwestern Normal University in my dream I'm going to be drenched in rain and look for you in the streets of the city and the fires we used to build together will dry the dampness in our hearts and the parting of the world three years ago was just a trip, because I believe that someday you're going to come back to sit on the bed in the old house and talk to us and maybe it's just a fictional event and most of the time you're just going to come back and talk to us. Maybe it was just a fictional event, but most of the time you drifted away, doing odd jobs as a janitor, and you didn't come back for several Chinese New Years, and then we got used to your absence, but we couldn't look at the picture on the table, and the grass on the grave withered and turned green and yellow, and you were so used to the humidity that you'd have asked me to keep you company in the sun, but more than 1,000 days and nights went by, and you didn't come back for another day to see your hobbling figure, and so I thought I'd light a candle in my sleep to dispel the darkness of our hearts, and I thought that we could use it to help us find the light we needed. I want to light a candle in my dream to dispel the darkness in our hearts the remaining half box of matches I'll hold it above my head like you held it when I was a child I'll also burn all the crops and sprinkle them into the sky I'm sure you'll be able to hear the grains of wheat laughing the sun will shine brightly in the other city as well I cried with sadness because I couldn't prolong your breath when I was little you never held me but I knew you loved me when I grew up you couldn't hold me but I knew I loved you before you were born my father told me that I wouldn't exist without you after you were gone, I told my father that we live on because you live on and you have to forgive me for not being able to remember you all the time, but I promise that I will never forget you even if one day I do. Even if one day I do forget, the beating pulse will remind me that your blood lives on in me. The River Dayan - my nanny The River Dayan, is my nanny. Her name is the name of the village where she was born, she was a child bride, and the Dayan River is my nanny. I am the son of a landlord, and the son of the River Dayan who grew up on the milk of the River Dayan. The Dayan River raised her family by raising me, and I was raised by eating your milk, O Dayan River, my nanny. Dayan River, today when I see snow it reminds me of you: your grass-covered grave pressed by snow, the dead wafers on the gable of your closed home, the one-square-foot garden that has been seized, and the mossy stone chairs in front of your door, Dayan River, today when I see snow it reminds me of you. You took me in your arms and caressed me with your thick palms; after you had built the fire, after you had patted the charcoal dust from your apron, after you had tasted the rice cooked, after you had put the dark bowl of sauce on the dark table, after you had mended your sons' clothes torn by the thorns of the hillside, after you had wrapped the hands of your children cut with a woodchopper, and after you had pinched the lice from your husband's shirt, one by one, and after you had taken out the lice from your children's shirts, and you had taken out the lice from their hands. After you had strangled the lice from your children's shirts, after you had picked up the first egg of the day, you took me in your arms and caressed me with your big, thick palms. I am the son of a landowner, and after I ate all your milk from the Dayan River, I was taken back to my own home by the parents who gave me birth. Ah, Dayan River, why are you crying? I'm a new guest in my parents' house! I touched the red lacquered and carved furniture, I touched the golden patterns on my parents' bed, I stared at the plaque on the cornice with the words "Tianlun Xuele" written on it, which I didn't recognize, I touched the silk and shell buttons of the new clothes I had changed into, I looked at my sister, whom I didn't know, in my mother's arms, I sat on the painted kangstool with its fireplace mantle, I ate rice, which I had studied thrice, but I didn't know what to do with the white rice. I sat on a painted kangstool with a fire bowl, I ate triple-steamed white rice, but I was so coy! I've become a new guest in the house of my parents. The Dayan River, for the sake of life, after she had drained her lotion, began to work with the arms that had held me; with a smile she washed our clothes, with a smile she carried the vegetable basket to the frozen pond by the village, with a smile she cut the turnips with ice chips, with a smile she pulled out the wheat lees that the pigs ate with her hands, with a smile she fanned the fire of the stove for the meat stew, and with a smile she carried the dustpan to the square to dry the soybeans and the wheat, and with a smile she carried the soybeans and the wheat, and with a smile she went to the square to sunbathe. Those soybeans and wheat, the River Weir, for the sake of life, after she had drained her lotion, she worked with her arms over me. Dayanhe, who loved her baby; for whom she was busy slicing sugar from the winter rice during the festivals; for whom she used to walk quietly to her house at the edge of the village; for whom she called "Mom" when she came to her side; for whom she put her red and green Guan Yunchang on the wall by the stove; for whom she would praise her baby to her neighbors; for whom she used to be a woman; for whom she was a woman; for whom she used to be a woman; for whom she used to be a woman; for whom she used to be a woman; for whom she used to be a woman; for whom she used to be a woman; for whom she used to be a woman; for whom she used to be a woman. Dayanhe had a dream she couldn't tell anyone: in the dream, she ate her baby's wedding wine, sat on a brilliantly colored hall, and her beautiful daughter-in-law affectionately called her "mother-in-law." ......... ... The River Dayan loves her breast! The River Weir died before she awoke from her dream. When she died, her baby was not beside her; when she died, her husband, who usually scolded her, wept for her; her five sons, each of them wept sadly; when she died, she softly called out the name of her baby; Dayanhe, who was dead; when she died, her baby was not beside her. The River Weir went away with tears in her eyes! With forty years of abuse in human life, with the endless misery of slavery, with a four-dollar coffin and a few bundles of straw, with a few feet of land to bury the coffin, with a handful of ashes of paper money, Dayanhe went away with tears in her eyes. This is what Dayanhe didn't know: her drunken husband had died, her eldest son had become a bandit, her second had died in the smoke of artillery fire, and her third, fourth, and fifth had lived their lives amidst the scolding of their masters and landlords. And I, I was writing the spell that was given to this unjust world. When I return to my native land after my long wanderings, in the hillsides and fields, the brothers meet more intimately than they did six or seven years ago! This, this is for you, the quietly sleeping Dayan River, do not know! Today, weir, your breast is in prison, writing a hymn to you, to your purple soul under the yellow earth, to the straight outstretched hands with which you have embraced me, to the lips with which you have kissed me, to your mud-black, gentle face, to *** with which you have nourished me, to your sons, to my brothers, to all on earth, my weir-like nannies and their sons, to the weir, who loves me as her own son. To the weir who loves me as her own son. Weir, I am your son who grew up on your milk, and I honor you and love you! 1933.1.14, Snow Day. (From "Dayan River", Cultural Life Publishing House, August 1939, first edition) Answer by: lvjian0101 - Assistant Third Level 5-5 17:00 A few times to find the gentleman gentleman do not meet, the dream is still together. The first time I saw this, I was in the middle of the night, and I was in the middle of the night. The same in the vast road of life. When the dead branches of the new green, the spring breeze blows into ten million households. When we meet again, only the tears won't stop. When we meet again, we can't stop the tears.　Remembering Grandfather (Two Songs) By: Northwest by West Your loud cough and the shovel you brought with you finally heaped up a grave on an unfamiliar hill, which became your home and my resting place I can sit here and look out from afar while stepping on the slanting sun, but the heaviness of the soil buries your sight, so that I can only think of you across the distant horizon The dampness of the soil is the handful of tears that were on my pillow last night, and I would like to climb up the ladder of Heaven and make a fire and wait for you to hobble in and warm my legs. Then there will be a long period of loneliness, like now, when all I can do is think of you in an empty space, when the pear trees you planted with your own hands are covered with snow, and the old house you built with your own hands is covered with dust, when my grandmother's sighs of relief are followed by gossip, which prolongs my eager sleeplessness in the night, and when I'll join my fathers and grandfathers in following your example of being a man of honor on the horizon, and when for two whole years you'll just lie down and not say a word and leave us to speculate about what's going on in the blue sky, and so I'll say on the yellow earth, "When the clouds are full of tear droplets and the clouds are full of tears. So I'm going to stand on the yellow earth and say, when the clouds are full of tears, you'd better close your eyes tightly, 2003.4.16 at Northwestern Normal University, in my dreams, I'll be in the rain, searching for you on the streets of the city, and the fires we used to build together, will dry the dampness in our hearts. Most of the time you drifted away, doing odd jobs as a janitor, not coming back for several spring seasons, and then we got used to your absence, but we couldn't face the picture on the table, and the grass on the grave withered and turned green and yellow, and when you got used to the dampness, you'd have asked me to keep you company in the sun, but a thousand days and nights went by, and you were never seen hobbling around again, and so I thought I'd light a candle in my dream, to drive the darkness away, and then, with half a box of matches, I'd hold it over my head, and I would hold it up to my head, and I would hold it up to my head. Half a box of matches will be held above my head as you held them when I was a child, and I'll burn all the crops, crumble them up and sprinkle them into the sky, and I'm sure you'll hear the grains of wheat laughing, and the sun will shine on another city, too. 2004.05.13 Lanzhou, Grandfather, when I came into the world, you laughed so brightly, when you left the world, and I cried silently, you laughed brightly and wonderfully, because your laughter was accompanied by a new life, and I cried so sadly, because my crying couldn't prolong your half a day of life. I cried with sadness and weakness because my crying couldn't prolong your breath half an inch When I was little, you never held me, but I knew you loved me When I grew up, you couldn't hold me, but I knew I loved you Before you were born, my father told me that I wouldn't exist without you After you were gone, I told my father that we live on because you live on, so you have to forgive me for not being able to remember you every moment, but I promise that I'll never forget you and even if I do one day the pulse will remind me of you, and I'll be happy to know that you're here. Even if one day I do forget, the beating pulse will remind me that your blood lives on in me. The Dayan River - my nanny The Dayan River is my nanny. Her name is the name of the village where she was born, she was a child bride, and the Dayan River is my nanny. I am the son of a landlord, and the son of the River Dayan who grew up on the milk of the River Dayan. The Dayan River raised her family by raising me, and I was raised by eating your milk, O Dayan River, my nanny. Dayan River, today when I see snow it reminds me of you: your grass-covered grave pressed by snow, the dead wafers on the gable of your closed home, the one-square-foot garden that has been seized, and the mossy stone chairs in front of your door, Dayan River, today when I see snow it reminds me of you. You took me in your arms and caressed me with your thick palms; after you had built the fire, after you had patted the charcoal dust from your apron, after you had tasted the rice cooked, after you had put the dark bowl of sauce on the dark table, after you had mended your sons' clothes torn by the thorns of the hillside, after you had wrapped the hands of your children cut with a woodchopper, and after you had pinched the lice from your husband's shirt, one by one, and after you had taken out the lice from your children's shirts, and you had taken out the lice from their hands. After you had strangled the lice from your children's shirts, after you had picked up the first egg of the day, you took me in your arms and caressed me with your big, thick palms. I am the son of a landowner, and after I ate all your milk from the Dayan River, I was taken back to my own home by the parents who gave me birth. Ah, Dayan River, why are you crying? I'm a new guest in my parents' house! I touched the red lacquered and carved furniture, I touched the golden patterns on my parents' bed, I stared at the plaque on the eaves with the words "Tianlun Xuele" written on it, which I didn't recognize, I touched the silk and shell buttons of the new clothes I had changed into, I looked at my sister, whom I didn't know, in my mother's arms, I sat on the painted kangstool with the fire bowl, I ate rice, which I had studied thrice, but I didn't know what to do with it. I sat on a painted kangstool with a fire bowl, I ate triple-steamed white rice, but I was so coy! I've become a new guest in the house of my parents. The Dayan River, for the sake of life, after she had run out of her lotion, began to work with the arms that had held me; with a smile she washed our clothes, with a smile she carried the vegetable basket to the frozen pond by the village, with a smile she sliced the turnips with ice chips, with a smile she pulled out the wheat lees that the pigs ate with her hands, with a smile she fanned the fire of the stove for stewing, with a smile she carried the dustpan to the square to dry the soybeans and the wheat, and with a smile she carried the soybeans and the wheat, and with a smile she went to the square to sunbathe the beans and the wheat, and with a smile she went to the square to sunbathe the beans and the wheat. Those soybeans and wheat, the River Weir, for the sake of life, after she had drained her lotion, she worked with her arms over me. Dayanhe, who loved her baby; for whom she was busy slicing sugar from the winter rice during the festivals; for whom she used to walk quietly to her house at the edge of the village; for whom she called "Mom" when she came to her side; for whom she put her red and green Guan Yunchang on the wall by the stove; for whom she would praise her baby to her neighbors; for whom she used to be a woman; for whom she was a woman; for whom she used to be a woman; for whom she used to be a woman; for whom she used to be a woman; for whom she used to be a woman; for whom she used to be a woman; for whom she used to be a woman; for whom she used to be a woman. Dayanhe had a dream she couldn't tell anyone: in the dream, she ate her baby's wedding wine, sat on a brilliantly colored hall, and her beautiful daughter-in-law affectionately called her "mother-in-law." ......... ... The River Dayan loves her breast! The River Weir died before she awoke from her dream. When she died, her baby was not beside her; when she died, her husband, who usually scolded her, wept for her; her five sons, each of them wept sadly; when she died, she softly called out the name of her baby; Dayanhe, who was dead; when she died, her baby was not beside her. The River Weir went away with tears in her eyes! With forty years of abuse in human life, with the endless misery of slavery, with a four-dollar coffin and a few bundles of straw, with a few feet of land to bury the coffin, with a handful of ashes of paper money, Dayanhe went away with tears in her eyes. This is what Dayanhe didn't know: her drunken husband had died, her eldest son had become a bandit, her second had died in the smoke of artillery fire, and her third, fourth, and fifth had lived their lives amidst the scolding of their masters and landlords. And I, I was writing the spell that was given to this unjust world. When I return to my native land after my long wanderings, in the hillsides and fields, the brothers meet more intimately than they did six or seven years ago! This, this is for you, the quietly sleeping Dayan River, do not know! Today, weir, your breast is in prison, writing a hymn to you, to your purple soul under the yellow earth, to the straight outstretched hands with which you have embraced me, to the lips with which you have kissed me, to your mud-black, gentle face, to *** with which you have nourished me, to your sons, to my brothers, to all on earth, my weir-like nannies and their sons, to the weir, who loves me as her own son. To the weir who loves me as her own son. Weir, I am your son who grew up on your milk, I honor you and love you! 1933.1.14, Snow Day. (From "The Dayan River", Culture and Life Publishing House, first edition, August 1939) As a child, I looked at my father, my father was a mountain, and I was a bird in the forest, a bird that could never be separated from the mountain's cultivation, as a child, I looked at my mother, my mother was a blue lake, and I was a fish, a fish that could never be separated from the lake's embrace, a mountain that gave me a strong character, and a lake that gave me the water's joy and laughter, a mountain that evolved into a flying feather, and a lake that shed all the scales that I had ever swum in as an adult. When I grow up, I look at my father, my father becomes a forest in the mountain, but I am a mountain, a house, a mountain that can never repay the forest's kindness. When I grow up, I look at my mother again. ------ My mother becomes a piece of grass in the lake, but I am a lake, a yellow lake, and the grass always protects me from the lake's waves.