Who has a poem dedicated to the mother of modern poetry , contemptible people are in dire need

Grateful heart I come from chance, like a piece of dust, who sees my fragility where I come from, where my love returns, who calls me in the next moment.

Although the world is wide, this road is difficult to walk, I have seen all the ups and downs in this world, how much love I still have, how many tears I still have, to know that I do not admit defeat and grateful heart, thank you for having you, accompany me for a lifetime, let me have the courage to be my own grateful heart, thank you, I will cherish the flowers when they bloom and fall.

Golden Flower Rabindranath Tagore.

If I had become a golden flower, just for fun, and had grown on the tall branches of that tree, swaying in the wind with a smile, and dancing on the newborn leaves, would you know me, mother?

What if you shouted, "Kid, are you a**?" "I was secretly laughing there, but I didn't say a word.

I'm going to quietly open the petals and watch you work.

When you have bathed and your wet hair is draped over your shoulders, and you walk through the shade of golden flowers, and walk into the little courtyard where you pray, you will smell the fragrance of the flowers, but you will not know that the fragrance comes from me.

When you have eaten lunch and sit by the window reading the Ramayana, and the shadow of the tree falls on your hair and knees, I will cast my little shadow on the pages of your book, on the place where you are reading.

But would you guess that this is your little shadow of a little child?

When you take the lamp and go into the cowshed at dusk, I will suddenly fall to the ground again, and I will be your child again, tell me a story.

You're going to **, you bad boy? ”

I'm not telling you, Mom. "That's what you and I were going to say then.

1, "Paper Boat".

Send to the mother. Ice Heart. I never let go of a piece of paper, I always kept it—kept it, folded it into a very small boat, and threw it out of the boat and into the sea.

Some were swept into the windows of the boat by the wind, and some were wet by the waves and stuck on the bow of the boat.

I still don't lose heart and stack it every day, always hoping that one of them will flow to where I want it to go.

Mother, if you see a very small white boat in your dreams, don't be surprised that it falls asleep for no reason.

This is your beloved daughter with tears in her eyes, thousands of rivers and mountains, begging it to carry her love and sorrow back.

2, "Mother".

Ralph. Mother is as humble as moss, solemn as the morning light, soft as the sound of water in the south of the Yangtze River, as hard as a thousand years of cold jade, when she raises her eyes, she is the bright moon, when she hangs her head, she is reckless earth.

, "The Wanderer's Song".The mountains are reluctant to send away the sunset.

Amorous sailors were reluctant to sail far.

Hope is calling.

The outside world is my paradise, and the free heart is flying.

Mother, do you care about me?

My mother looked at me uneasily.

Mother, do you want my life to be more exciting?

My mother looked at me with relief.

Listen to the sound of the train and the whistle ......

A pair of hands were clasped tightly through the window.

Dreams and mothers. My dream.

Melt in the snow. Fluttering all the way.

Move east. Mother far away from home.

Village head tuyere. Open your arms.

Waiting for the return of dreams.

How many years. Every piece of snowsuit.

Write full of memories. How many years.

Every wisp of snow.

With my lovesick tears.

Wretched. Today's old mother.

Hair has long been gray.

Wretched. Mother in the Wind.

The years are miserable.

Stand in the sky. I want to crush the bone marrow.

For the old mother. Deliver a glass of wine.

Think more. Burn the soul.

Be a phoenix in the fire.

For mothers. Dance the Wild.

Mother. My gold pen.

I suffocate in helplessness.

I do not know. My heart.

Can it still be full of affection and love?

Mother. When Cher drifts through the sky with the wind.

The most trembling and shy wisp.

It's my mood.

Under the sun. Turned into tears.

Melt into the fields of your hometown.

dripping on the soles of the mother's feet.

Mother. Mother.

Call Mother.

I have no regrets.

Last night, you must have touched me in a dream, and the rough palms still have the smell of cabbage and green beans on my face.

You have said many things with your eyes, and a look is a heartfelt voice.

I really want to hug you, smell the smell of my hometown, and ask if this winter is very cold, but I only see the back of an old man.

Abroad has gone crazy! Build a super shelter and survive the apocalypse, you can't stop at all.

Ad. Abroad has gone crazy! Build a super shelter and survive the apocalypse, you can't stop at all.

Mother, you are getting farther and farther away from me, and I just want to stay in that small mountain village with my father and continue the legend of your lifelong love.

I had no choice but to exchange my thoughts for objects to make up for my guilt and gain peace of mind.

Mother, your hard-working and kind nature, together with your hometown, will guide me in my future life.

Thank you to my mother for giving me life and giving me the warmth of a lifetime!

A hymn to the mother.

When I was a child, I heard that the moon is like a mother, that all the stars in the sky are her children, and that the stars are like many brothers and sisters, who love each other in one big family.

When I grew up, I traveled far away for the first time, and without saying a word, I put the clothes I had sewn with my own hands, and put all your love into my bag with a selfless heart like the moon.

In that star-twinkling dream, how many times have you covered me with the quilt that fell to the side, and the tears of my concern beat on the road under my feet, and every tear is a poem in praise of my mother.

Author of the poem "Mother Pleads for Her Son".

I'm sorry, he was wrong, he shouldn't have drawn a moaning narcissus on the frozen windowpane in order to break the artificial boundaries I'm sorry, he was wrong, he shouldn't have blown two green whistles in order to add a little natural hue I'm sorry, he was wrong, he shouldn't have struck a match to see heaven on Christmas Eve in the wind and snow in order to transform the cold zone of the soul I'm sorry, he was wrong, he was so confused that he fantasized about clouds and stars in the mud and haze, and didn't understand that you need a lightless, silent, Colorless Chaos, please forgive me, I am guilty - I should not have been born into the world, I know that in this sad world, the proof of his sin is his existence1970

1.Meng Jiao's "The Wanderer's Yin": The line in the mother's hand, the wanderer's shirt. Before leaving, I am afraid that I will return late. Whoever says an inch is careless, and he will be rewarded with three springs.

2.Bai Juyi's "Yan Poems Show Liu Suo": Si'er is the day of the chick, and when he flies high and carries his mother. Parents read it at that time, and you should know it today.

Mother.

Your mother's love is like the morning.

A stream flowing through the mountains.

Every bit is also the condensation of mother's love, and the clear stream can eventually converge into the boundless sea.

Mother's heart: Mother, the storm in the sky is coming, and the bird is hiding in its nest, and the wind and rain in my heart are coming, and I only hide in your arms. It's over.

The mother is as humble as moss, solemn as the morning light, soft as the sound of the water in the south of the Yangtze River, and as solid as the cold king of a thousand years.

Stars (5).

The darkness of the ice heart, how to depict it?

The depths of the heart, the depths of the universe, the resting places in the brilliant light.

Mother, your love is like a spring flowing in the mountains in the morning.

Mother's love is the warmth of the sunshine in March, which fills the hearts of children, mother's love is the majestic mountains that can withstand the hardships of wind and rain, and mother's love is a deep ocean, which needs mother's tears and sweat to be formed.

Stars (131): O sea! Which star has no light? Which flower doesn't have fragrance? When did I not have the clear sound of your waves in my thoughts?

Ancient Style: Mother's Ballad.

Hu Bingyan] is innocent and splendid, and the plain dress is clean and flawless.

The red line is tied to the couple, and the scenery is beautiful to the in-law's house.

Reserved and virtuous, the neighbor is good, and ten people have seen ten people and praised them.

Raise the case and live together, respect and love each other.

The god-given elves fell to the ground, and they did not leave to raise a baby for a while.

The mother's blood drips with hope, and wiping the feces will not annoy the urine.

The stove in winter and the palm fan in summer are always taken care of.

As soon as there is a disaster and runs to the hospital, I can't let go of my impatience.

Needlework and fine sewing of the body, clean and clean clothes.

The morning bears the cold dew and the evening bears the twilight, and the pick-up and drop-off has been tenacious for several years.

Work tirelessly and diligently, no regrets only for the family.

In the summer, he did farm work in the hot sun, and in winter, he spun cotton yarn in the dim light.

Day after day, year after year, cowardly Ziyan has grown up.

The figure is ricketic and staggering, and the blue frost is covered with hair.

The cold door is reclining and colorless, and there is a little sadness on the cheeks.

The courtyard is deep and cold, and the six gods have no main body.

The big house is guarded alone, who will care about the mother?

The road from winter to spring is short.

But the road from heart to heart is long.

A pair of sunny hands sows true love.

The hands of the ears of wheat repented and prepared for the season.

A mother's love does not need to be grafted.

Grafting is those happy times.

In the afternoon with a silver whistle.

The brook washes her mother's smile.

I banish an unrestrained heart.

Tightly folded in the field.

Hurried through the bright leaves.

Let the days be polished into a string of laughter.

Plant a clump of greenery.

Many days I always want to climb the sky.

Brush a wisp of crimson on a fork in winter.

I always want to shed tears in warm milk.

Seek a share of the mother's touch.

I lay my mind on the path of Mengbi's blindness.

I don't know how to thank you.

Only write long and short sentences in blank spaces.

Thoughts bathed in the drizzle.

I tried to open the small window of **.

Find an eternal dream.

So, shake a hand of wet thoughts.

Look to the way home.

1, "The Wanderer's Yin": The line in the mother's hand, the wanderer's shirt. Before leaving, I am afraid that I will return late. Whoever says an inch is careless, and he will be rewarded with three springs.

2, "Arriving Home at the Twilight": The love for the son is endless, and he is happy to return home. The cold clothes are densely sewn, and the ink marks of the family letter are new. When he met Pian Qingqing, Hu'er asked about the hardships. He was ashamed of the son of man, and he didn't dare to sigh for the dust.

3, "Yu Zhangxing": Hu Wind Blows on Horse, and Luyang Pass is embraced in the north. Wu Bing shines on the sea and snow, and asks when to return it in the west. Halfway through Liaojin, Huang Yun was miserable. The old mother and the son said goodbye, calling the sky and the grass.

4, "Fifteen": The mother will be on the ditch and leave the family in the white yin. When the moon heard Du Yu, the north and the south always cared.

5, "Farewell Mother": Worship the mother Heliang, white hair and tears are dry. The miserable snowy night in Chaimen, at this time, it is better to have a son than nothing.

6, "Repatriation and Rent": The world is called Zen to lack chaos and pity the canal, and the family is poor and depends on the mother's kindness. The deer gate is not successful, and the goose foot is difficult.