Mother's love is a kind of selfless power, it is like spring rains, sprinkled in our hearts, although it is silent, but nourished the growth of a seedling of life.
Man's life, all the glory and pride in the world, are from the mother's love, mother's love is sacred, it sometimes in our most difficult to give us the strength, from the moment of birth, people in a sincere blood into the mother's blood vessels, happy into the embrace of the mother's love, a wave of pride in the home in the chest to echo. When the mother's love takes flight, dedicate a love of the heart.
Mother's love, is a cradle, cultivate their own swaying luxuriant, mother's love, is a folk song, singing unity, spread civilization; mother's love, is a monument, engraved in the past, enlighten the future ......
Ah! Mother's love, if you are a building, I am your a brick, a tile, a stone, with my small body, build up your lofty; if you are a flag, I belong to you is a silk thread, with my youth for you to embroider a shining star; if you are a garden, I belong to you is a small flower, a grass, a green leaf, I am willing to quietly exhaust the blood, spit out strands of Fenfen.
"The thread in the hands of a loving mother, the clothes on the body of a traveler. I'm not sure if I'm going to be able to make it back. Who said that the heart of grass, to repay the three spring sunshine." We can only repay our mother's kindness with love and filial piety. Honor your mother is a person's duty, and finally to people often say "October sing a love song to the mother", farewell to the great love of mother, but I finally say out loud: "I love you, more love your big heart.
Mother's love is like water:
Mother's love is like water, flowing through, inspiring me, guiding me, leading me to the light.
Mother's love is like water, giving me a strong tenderness, so that I am often intoxicated in the river of mother's love; mother's love is like water, sometimes calmly flow, and sometimes rush forward.
Mother's love is the world's greatest love, how many celebrities and great people have sung its praises, although mother's love in our hearts is very ordinary, but if, without it, we are like a weed, do not know what is the greatest love. I love my mom, like water flowing in my heart.
When I was disillusioned and my eyes were lost, it was my mother who had the tenderness to guide me, to find a guidepost for me on the road of life, to guide me forward. I was able to see the confidence in my eyes again.
Then my mom turned into a river and flowed quietly.
Mother's love is like water, with her endless cultivation of my patience, so that I, like her, with their own goals, like mom, the demand for success in everything, so that I have a high degree of patience with anyone, anything.
When I do something wrong, the river of my mother's love speeds up because of my anger, and I'm so sad that I shouldn't have done that, and I regret it, and I repent. I have to go back and do that thing again until I do it right, then I see the mother river become clear and transparent, I also showed a pleasant smile.
When I was lonely, I sat alone on the bank of the Mother River and talked to her. And after each conversation, in addition to the comfort, I have a different harvest --- the truth of being a human being. So I would happily do what I was going to do, forgetting the loneliness I had just felt. I will continue to laugh at life.
When I succeeded in my studies, listen to my mother silently applauding me in my heart. She is encouraging me to continue to succeed.
Mother's love is like water, flowing through, inspiring me, guiding me, leading me to the light.
Mother's love has no words:
I have heard two stories about mothers.
One was between a traveler and his mother. When the son left his hometown after a visit to his family, his mother sent him to the station. At the station, the strap of the son's travel bag was suddenly broken. Seeing that it was almost time for the train to depart, the mother hurriedly took off the belt from her pants and tied up her son's travel bag. Her face turned red from the effort of unbuckling her pants. The son asked his mother how to get home, and she said, "It doesn't matter, just walk slowly.
Over the years, the son has always kept his mother's belt with him. For years, the son has wondered how his mother ever made it back to her home several miles away without her belt.
Another story is that of a prisoner and his mother. On the day of the visit, two old mothers from a poor mountainous area came to visit their son. Among the visitors' colorful belongings, the mothers pulled out sunflower seeds wrapped in white cloth for their son. The sunflower seeds are already fried, and the mother has eaten all of them. There was no skin on them, and they were as white as the tongues of birds.
The son, who was serving a prison sentence, took the sunflower seeds and his hands began to shake. The mother was speechless, lifting up her coat and wiping her eyes. She traveled a long way to visit her son, sold her eggs and piglets, and had to save as much money as she could to pay for the trip. Before she came, she worked hard during the day and then at night, under a kerosene lamp, she would eat melon seeds. The melon seeds were put together, and they grew like a mountain, but I didn't want to eat any of them.
More than ten kilograms of melon seeds have brightened many nights.
The son of a convict hangs his head. As a strong young man, it was the right time to support his mother, but he could not. Of all the visitors to the prison, his mother's clothes were the most ragged. The melon seeds her mother took one bite at a time contained a thousand words. The son knelt down and confessed to his mother.
On one occasion, a friend of my age complained to me about my mother, saying that she was uneducated and thoughtless, and that she couldn't do anything but nag. So I told him these two stories. The first one is about the fact that the two are not the same, but the second one is about the fact that the two are not the same, and the third one is about the fact that the two are not the same.
Mother's heart:
A friend told me that her grandmother had dementia.
First, she didn't recognize her grandfather and was determined not to allow this "strange man" to come to her bed, so she had to sleep in the living room after 50 years of sharing a bed. Then one day she left the house and disappeared, and the family finally found her with the help of the police station. It turned out that she was so determined to find her childhood home that she refused to admit that her current home had anything to do with her.
Coaxed and tricked, finally persuaded Grandma to stay, but Grandma forgot about her nieces and nephews who she had brought up since childhood, thinking they were a group of wild children, came to steal her food, she used her walking stick to beat them, one hand to protect their own rice bowls: "Go away, go away, don't eat my food." The whole family laughed and cried.
Thankfully, Grandma still recognized one person, her friend's mother, and remembered her as her daughter. Every time she saw her, she would put a smile on her face and call her, "Mao Mao, Mao Mao." At dusk, she'd sit on a stool downstairs, chattering, "Why isn't Mao Mao out of school yet?" --Even Maomao's daughter has graduated from college.
The family recognized this point in Grandma's behavior, and if she ever wanted to go back to her own home again, they would threaten her: "If you don't stop, Maomao won't want you anymore." She would immediately calm down.
One year, on the National Day, a friend's mother cooked a family dinner for her guests. At the dinner table, Grandma acted strangely again. Whenever a dish was served, Grandma would peep out alertly in all directions, furtively, as if she were a child about to steal candy. When she finally realized that no one was paying attention to her, she took a large chopstickful of food and put it in her pocket in full view of everyone. All the guests were shocked, but they pretended not to see it. Only Grandma herself, as if she thought she had done it very skillfully and secretly, smiled happily. That meal was ...... really a little tough.
After the last - dish, has been busy with the feet do not touch the ground of the friend's mother, only from the kitchen, while asking the guests "eat well or not", while casually picking some leftovers from the plate to eat. The mother's mother, who is a member of the family of the same name, was a member of the family of the same name, but she was also a member of the family of the same name, but she was also a member of the family of the same name.
Grandma pulled her daughter all the way to the door, vigilantly blocked the crowd's line of sight with her body, and then dug in her pocket and dug out the food she had just hidden inside with a smile, and shoved it into her daughter's hand: "Mao Mao, I've saved this for you specially, you eat it, you eat it."
The daughter's hands held a pile of various, mixed up, squeezed out of shape vegetables, for a long time, before she froze and looked up, saw her mother's smiling face, she suddenly cried.
The disease cut off all the connections between Grandma and the world, making her forget all the connections in her life, all the dear people, and the only thing that could not be cut off was the blood ties between mother and daughter, and her soul had been slowly dying under the erosion of the disease, but what would never die was the heart of a mother.
Mother's work:
Once I read an article about mother's "salary", the article described the famous "Edelman Financial Services Organization" after careful thought, calculation and evaluation, came to the conclusion that if the mother If all the work done by the mother was paid for, the children would be paid as much as $635,000 a year. This means that the mother's salary is comparable to that of the president of a large company.
Not many children can afford to pay even $60,000, as American writer Crittenden puts it.
Motherhood is a job, a thankless job.
Mother's love is a kind of details, as long as you pay attention to it everywhere: a cup of rich milk in the morning is mother's love, a warm coat in winter is mother's love, a smile is mother's love when you're sad, a word of advice before going out of the door is mother's love ......
Mothers with a lifetime of love and passion to do this work, and enjoy it. We, however, tend to ignore the hardships of these jobs and just give a careless glance to the hard-working mothers.
For me, my mother is gentle and strict.
When I was sick, it was always my mother who took care of me, bringing me a cup of warm water and tucking me in.
When the weather gets cooler, it's always my mom who reminds me to put on more clothes and be careful of catching a cold.
When I did not do well on my exams, it was always my mother who comforted me with the words, "It's okay, there's always next time."
This time the mother, is gentle.
When I made a mistake, my mother always reprimanded me harshly, let me bow my head and admit my mistake, repentance.
When I missed my studies due to playfulness, my mom always pulled me aside angrily and watched me finish my homework.
This time my mom was strict.
Mother's gentleness makes me feel warm again and again; mother's strictness makes me gradually distinguish right from wrong and develop good habits.
Mother is the first mentor of my life, but also accompanied me to grow up happily intimate friend.
So I say: mother's love is the spring night rain, gently come, quietly go, moist and silent; mother's love is the sunshine in March, quietly dedication, quietly pay, although light as a feather, but heavy as Mt.
If you are a ship, mother is a warm harbor; if you are a kite, mother is a light spool.
Motherhood is one of the greatest jobs, always be praised, always be saluted ......
My mother:
My mother is very ordinary, not a highly educated people, there is no enviable face, but she gave me attentive teaching, sincere love and care, so that I grow up healthily.
I grew up as an eccentric child, mischievous, not like to be constrained.
When I was more than a year old and had just learned to speak, I would tattle on my mother. As soon as my father came home, I ran up to him and said, "Daddy, Mommy hit the doll again!" When Dad heard this, he asked, "Really?" Grandma interjected, "Nonsense!" I parroted back, "Nonsense!"
It's not that mom didn't hit me, but she didn't hit me hard, she just pretended.
But I was always bruised and battered because I was so naughty, even though I couldn't walk yet, I was always tumbling out of my crib. Whenever I did, my mom would blame herself.
Gradually, I grew up, and my mom seemed to be getting more and more aggressive. I remember the kids didn't want to come to my house to play because if I made a mistake, even in front of my buddies, my mom wouldn't give me face, which was humiliating for me and embarrassing for the kids. In fact, it seemed to work so well that I hardly ever made a mistake twice.
Since then, Mom has earned the name "tyrant" among the kids.
But mom was very tolerant and frugal, she never left any food on the table, and even drank all the soup. She was in good health, probably because she had a good appetite.
Mom doesn't like to take medicine when she catches a cold. She used to be poor and didn't have any, but now she hates it because she's afraid of the side effects. My father didn't like to take medicines either, so I never had an infusion since I was a kid.
My good health is due to my mother's excellent cooking skills. Mom's cooking is comparable to that of a chef. When she made julienne, she always cut it herself and never rubbed it with a mold, because she said it didn't taste good.
Mom didn't use a washing machine to do her laundry, even in the middle of winter, she still washed by hand. When I was very young, my family was not well off, and she had to save on hot water, so she used cold water to wash, so her hands were always red and swollen. Even now, she doesn't believe that washing clothes in a washing machine is any cleaner than washing them by hand. Dad and I used to tease her about her stubbornness, but she just ignored it and kept on doing it.
My mom taught me a lot: she taught me to be strong, not to cry when things go wrong, and to use my brain to think of solutions; she corrected my problems, so that I gradually developed good habits; she also taught me to treat people calmly, and not to take other people's faults to heart, which would hurt myself and others.......
My mom said, "I don't know what you're talking about, and I don't know if you're talking about the same thing. I don't remember my mom saying "I love you" to me, but her actions always told me that she loved her family and she loved me. In her eyes, I was the only one who mattered, and I was always the most important.
This is my mother, an ordinary and great mother.
Holding his mother across the street
Weekend afternoon with his wife and children home, nearly aged mother can not help but be happy, must be on the street to buy some good food to entertain us. Mother said: "you come back, mom to cook for you, not tired, is happy ah!" I said: "I go with you!" Mother said cheerfully: "Good, good, you go, you say buy what, mom will buy what."
To the food court need to walk a section of the sidewalk, and then cross a road. It's time to get off work, and the streets are filled with cars and people rushing by. My mother's legs were weak with age. She was carrying a basket of vegetables, walking next to me and talking about family matters, and I listened to her with tolerance and patience. The children can't help but listen.
Crossing the street, there was a vegetable market. The mother suddenly stopped, she put the basket in the arm, free right hand, to me to reach ......
At that moment, my heart trembled: this is a how familiar action ah!
When I was in elementary school, I had to cross the street every day to get to school. My mother worked at a packaging factory. The school was on the east side of town and the factory was on the west side, so my mother was worried that something might happen to me; she had to walk me across the highway every day before she turned around and went back to work. When crossing the street, she always stretched out her right hand to me, held my little hand in her palm, and led me across the highway. Then she lowered her body and urged over and over again: "Don't cross the road if there is a car coming", "Cross the road and follow others to cross together"......
More than 20 years have passed, the former The small hands have grown into a pair of manly hands, the former mud and stone highway has been improved into a concrete road, the former young mother has been wrinkled, thin fingers, but her hand-holding action is still so skillful. She ate a lot of pain, suffered a lot of crime, these are all swept away like her hair, but can never erase the love of the son of the feelings.
I didn't pass my hand over, but stretched out a hand from the bend of her arm to take down the basket, carried on the hand, the other hand gently hold her hand, said to her: "When I was a child, every time I crossed the street is you hold me, today crossing the street, let me hold you!" The mother's eyes flashed surprise, the smile ripples open, like an old farmer facing the harvest farmland, like a fisherman carrying a heavy net ......
Mother's hand:
Dreaming in a foreign land, almost dreaming is true. The last fall hastily returned to Taiwan, after returning, the scene in the dream will be vague, old friends, new friends, relatives are also gradually fade away, leaving only the mother alone, hard big plate solid, great for Tarzan, the dream will be full of.
That night, I dreamed of my mother. I was in the middle of the field, and my mother was in the middle of the field. She had memorized the sunset, the old road, the bamboo houses, the smoke, the distant mountains and the big river, and looked up to the sky which was as vast as the wilderness. In the blue sea and sky, there is a kite like a whale, floating and sinking. My mother was holding the string in her hand, which was wrapped around the strands of her gray hair. At the moment, the wind rose, the smoke dispersed away, the setting sun did not land, the old road hidden traces of the distant mountains into the pale, and the sound of the river also drowned out the mother's words ...... mother's image gradually receded; my eyes focused on her - hands, the pair of hands, actually covered my tears eyes can see everything. I could see everything with my tearful eyes. Those hands were the gateway to the world; those fingers were the candles at the top of the mountain that made my world free of the sun's light and heat.
Mother's hand, in my first strong impression, was the hand that punished me. Children are scolded by adults and beaten by adults is unavoidable, but how I can not recall any mother beaten by the clip to; even the most common beating palms spanking are gone although, the mother's discipline is more than beating, she has a twisted unique trick. I said the trick, is that she pulled and twisted at the same time - pulled up and twisted the pain. Pulled or twisted, perhaps the Chinese mothers of boys used to quit, in addition to the stepmother of the "first out" of the "little bitch" still have "no comment" of the vicious family law, probably the general mother in the The first time I saw this was when I was a kid, and it was the first time I'd ever seen a kid in my life.
My mother is just like hundreds of millions of mothers under the sky, to me is "deep love, the responsibility of the cut". Especially when I was a child, the country was in trouble, the people were robbed, uprooted from their homes, so that the mother of her children to the law of the more strict, the love of the more cut, the more demanding the blame. Mother's to me, although not as mother-in-law to Wu Mu, but, in the times of great turmoil in front of the enemy, before the great courage and righteousness, so that the mother and any one of the rear of the Chinese mother fleeing the same, the children's love and love, can be upward to identify the thousand years of the sun and the moon. In Anshun, Guizhou, one year, the family came to visit a distant guest, my mother prepared a few extra dishes, which was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for the children to have a "toothsome feast". I was greedy, more than usual, half a bowl of rice, but after a couple of mouthfuls, I couldn't eat any more. Across the table, I looked at my mother in horror. Her face was calm and solemn, said to me: "Eat up, not left." When I shook my head, my mother's face changed to one of disappointment and indignation, but she only said lightly, "Then go down and set up the chopsticks and bowls." Before the adults were seated, I peeked at my mother from time to time, and her face did not show. She didn't smile or say anything. At night, the guests left, my mother could not control the long-suppressed emotions, a drag me over, no head and face pressed me on the bed, back Ding two arms, up and down the whole body twisted, and could not stop saying: "Why obviously can not eat still feast? How hard it is to have enough to eat, do you know that there are still children on the street begging for food?" After the wringing stop, I saw my mother turned her head away, sitting on the edge of the bed, sobbing in anger. Since then, I have not had any leftover rice in my rice bowl.
Of course, my mother's hand, in my feelings since also has its ironic delicate side. In those days, my mother washed all the clothes and pants of my family. After pouring a pot of hot water into a large wooden basin, then putting in about three washbasins of cold water, a washboard, a handful of soap horn or a piece of heavy alkali soap, the clothes were then rubbed together in her skillful fingers. There was no running water in Anshun at that time, and those who had wells in their yards could draw water from them, while those who did not had to buy water. All day long, there were water sellers along the street with two wooden buckets of water (the water was covered with lotus leaves). We were among those who had to buy water. On cold days, my mother washed the laundry under the eaves and in front of the porch, always with a red face, struggling and silently washing one piece at a time. I used to peep through the hole in the paper window and see that before each wash, my mother would always carefully remove the wedding ring from her ring finger. By the time she put the washed clothes on the bamboo poles and hung them on the porch, her fingers were already red and swollen from the cold. When we grew up, we realized that in the years after her marriage, our mother had lived a rich life as a "young grandmother", with our elder brother, me, and our third brother, each led by a nurse. However, the mother's delicate hands, baptized under the fire of July 7, through the weather, but also transformed, became thick and strong enough to cope with any hardship.
It was the same pair of calloused hands that supervised our brothers' schoolwork under the weak, dimly lit oil lamps without letting up. Rough and fragile straw paper books, a book, page by page, in her fingers like a calendar turn over. When I was in the third grade, I was repetitive because of my poor grades. I remember not having the courage to look at my mother's face when I handed her the report card, but when I looked down, I saw that my mother's hand was shaking even more than my own when she was holding the "historical record". But, unexpectedly, those hands were gently pressed against my head, and I heard my mother say calmly, "It's all right. You'll be fine next year if you put in a little more effort." I can't remember exactly how long I stood there, but I'll always remember the deep impression those hands left on me.
Winter night, the fire is gradually exhausted, the air inside the house is more cold, and after we went to bed, my mother sat next to the fire, through the dim light, began to sew for our clothes and socks. Sometimes she used an awl to pierce the thick cloth soles, and then put the hemp rope through the needle holes and tightened them one by one. The pain she endured was probably the overdraft of the pleasure she got when the new shoes were ready and worn on our feet! :Vvop^
But, in those years, there were times when my mother was still in high spirits. Every time, she will take the initiative to take out the pipe brought out of Beiping the jade screen Xiao and a branch of flute, play a song, the mother often blowing the tune of "stabbing the tiger", "Linchong night run", "the garden of dreams" and "spring". "The Dream of the Garden," and "Moonlit Night in the Spring River. The hands, so light jumping on each scale, but also so beautiful and rich in talent.
When I returned to Taiwan last summer, I noticed that my mother's hands had more wrinkles and trembled slightly, and that her wedding ring looked a little loose. One morning, only my mother and I were left at home, I went to the kitchen to make tea and poured a cup for her. When I put the cup in her hands, for the first time so close to see the hands, but I did not dare to touch easily. All of a sudden those hands became so big that I found constant strength for Yun Yue, who would be leaving Taiwan in three days to sail 8,000 miles. My mother's hands had never been coated with cardamom, nor had they been embellished with any make-up crystals. But they were the most perfect hands ever.
Mother's love:
"The smartest animal after man is the wolf, the wolf of the north. I don't know what the wolves of the South are like. I don't talk about things I don't know. I only know about the wolves of the north."
An old hunter, speaking to me by the honey-sticky campfire in the Daxingan Mountains, said. The hunter is a dying profession, and he has become a forest ranger instead of a hunter.
I said, "No, it's not. It's gorillas. Gorillas have facial expressions, can use simple tools, and can even communicate with people on the Internet using a special vocabulary."
"I've never seen a gorilla, and I don't know what the Internet is. I've only seen wolves. The wolves of the desert and the forest are the smartest. That was when I was young. ......" The old hunter stretched his chest, as if he had regained his former valor.
"What about a wolf crossing a river with a cub? If there is only one, it will carry it in its mouth. If there were several, it was not sure what to do with each one, for fear that something might happen to the children left on the bank while it swam in the river. So the wolf bites an animal, blows up its stomach, and clenches it firmly with its teeth at the base, so that it swells up like a raft. He carried all the coyotes on his back, and with the buoyancy of the life preserver, the whole family crossed the river."
On one occasion, I chased a female wolf with two cubs. She couldn't run very fast, because the cubs were not strong enough. As the distance between us narrowed, the mother wolf turned her head toward a huge sand dune. I was surprised. Normally, when wolves are in danger, they circle around in thick grass and trees, taking advantage of the terrain to escape. If you climb to the sandy slope, although the wolf climbs faster, it seems to have an advantage over the human, but once the human climbed to the top of the slope, there is a clear view, the wolf can not run away.
This is a strange wolf, perhaps it is confused. I thought to myself, as I climbed up the high dune one step at a time. I could see it clearly, and the wolf was fleeing into the distance. I went downhill to catch up with him, but suddenly I realized that the coyote had disappeared. I didn't think twice about it, so I chased after him as fast as I could. It was the fastest wolf I'd ever seen in my life, and I didn't know where it got its strength from, like a black arrow against the ground. I chased it until the sun went down and killed it, and I was so tired that I almost vomited blood.
I took the wolf's skin off and put it on the tip of my gun and walked back. As I walked, I thought to myself, "What an incredible wolf, why is it so scrupulous? Where are the two cubs?
Almost home, I decided to go back to the dunes. It was almost midnight, the weather was cold, and under the white moonlight the dune looked like a silver tomb, unmoving.
I thought to myself that it was just a stupid wolf. I was about to leave, when I saw two trails of smoke rising from a hidden depression like white candles.
I ran over and saw a huge pile of camel dung. White gas was coming out of it. I gently peeled it away and saw the two cubs that had disappeared during the day, panting evenly under the warm dung, dreaming their first good dream since leaving their mother. The ground was lightly swept by the wolves' tails, a skillful job that had eluded the eyes of a veteran hunter like me during the day.
The she-wolf, in order to protect her cubs, first delayed my speed by climbing the slope and won the time to hide her children. Then she smoothed out the trail with her tail and ran in the opposite direction with all her might, saving her child's life with her death.
The hot breath from the sleeping wolf cub's nose condensed into a curved white line in the night sky, gradually rising ......
"How clever the wolf is! When man trains a wolf to be stupid, it becomes a dog. A single dog can never defeat a single wolf, that's what I'm trying to tell you." The old hunter said, looking at the ashes of the bonfire.
Afterward, I did read that the brain capacity of a dog is smaller than that of a wolf. The idea of training an animal to be stupid enough to be used for human service is a great invention
Mother's love --
Father gave birth to me, mother gave birth to me. She patted me, raised me, and nurtured me. She cares for me, and takes me in and out of her womb. The virtues I wish to repay are as great as the heavens. The text reads: "Seeking a woman who cooks, sews, nurses, tutors, rises early, sleeps late, endures forever, forgets herself, works at least eighteen hours a day, and twenty-four hours a day, if necessary. Work seven days a week, no recreation, no resignation for life. ...... Sacrifice your life if necessary. The bottom part of the announcement is a perfect ending: who can be honored except a mother? Let us all shout: Mother, I love you!
In fact, this is someone with another posture to define motherhood. A woman is weak; a mother is strong.
When we think of our mothers, our tears roll ...... The hand that drives the world is the hand that rocks the cradle. The hand that moves the world is the hand that rocks the cradle.
Birthday is the day when a mother becomes a mother, and it is also the day when she suffers the most. From that day on, my mother's fondest dreams as a teenager became a busy reality. She watched us grow up to be what she was when she was a teenager, while she became the "housewife" that she herself had disdained when she was young.
It was brutal. Mother, willingly.
Mothers pour their young lives at the other end of the umbilical cord; wrapped in the right amount of "sugar coating", we scoop up the past, spread out the future, hold up the years, and embrace the unfathomable forever.
Looking at the children's youth, recklessness and self-righteousness, how many times, the mother's heartache is speechless. Now, the past that my mother embraced with us is transforming into the future that she and we **** together.
Holding the mother's lapel, through the flow of years, the change of time and space to erase the colorful seasons, but can not weather the mother's love, the color.
Thinking of the mother, we rolled in tears ......
"Mother in the hands of the line, the swimmer on the clothes, in the line of close sewing, fear of late return, who said inches of grass heart, to repay the three spring sunshine". The song "The Song of a Wandering Son" is a perfect illustration of the greatness and selflessness of a mother's love. When you are successful, your mother teaches you not to lose yourself.
When you are disappointed, your mother's encouragement and comfort will always help you find yourself in the face of adversity. We have stepped on the treetops to reach the cloud's clothes, we want to be alone to go to the end of the world,......, we did not take into account that our mother's green silk has been our footsteps into the white hair.
Children traveled a thousand miles to see their mother. The mother said she was not alone --- with her the company of all the lonely mothers in the world. "Parents don't want anything for their children, as long as you can be happy, happy, and no longer let your parents worry, that's enough." --- That's what our mothers are looking for in return!
Give your mother a little more love, even if it is a fan in the heat, a sweater in the winter, a quiet night on the phone in a deep, greetings.
When we think of our mothers, our tears roll ......
What is the most precious thing in life? The mother's love. Behind every great man, there is a great mother. Thank God, we are not great people, but also have a great mother's love.
Returning from afar, the mother always welcome to the door ripples open a face of gratitude, she put the children's return to God as a rare gift. The humility of mothers transcends all grudges, and they shape the absolute conscience of the world.
Touching the lines of the palm, counting yesterday, imagining the exhaustion - this is the first awakening of conscience. Our mothers have drifted away from our past. The years have given us the future, but they have trampled on the absolute closeness we had with our mothers.
Mother's inadvertent lassitude and her waning figure have increased disproportionately to our youthful abundance; their hasty past can only reside in one yellowed photograph after another; while our glorious youth is still being nourished by our mother's youthful obstinacy.
Surely there is something that always makes us feel empty when we face our mothers, like a madman standing in front of the Buddha and losing self-confidence. At this moment, fame and fortune are just like the leftover leaves of the past life that have swept away in the air --- facing the mother, we suddenly see the root of the fundamentals.
There are so many things about our mothers that we can't stop our tears from welling up.
When we think of our mother, our tears roll ......
Let the mind become a million sunsets, through time and space, looking for the years lost inadvertently; but can not recapture the mother to give us the mottled scattered and neglected by you and me beads strung on the ground. That is the drop of love, let you and I, can not release, guilt and loss.
Mother's love, an unfathomable pool of water.
When we think of our mothers, our tears roll ......
Take a fine-toothed comb and comb through our thoughts.
Our tears roll down our faces when we think of our mothers.