Hymns in praise of mothers should be a little longer

1, "Paper Boat".

Send to the mother. Ice Heart.

I never gave up 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, stacking 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, "Praise to Mother".

This document is for all mothers in the world, whether poor or rich.

Mother, can you use the hands of withered bark?

Brush away the frost that has already turned gray on your temples? I know.

The bow of the red ribbon bleached the black hair in memory.

It's been a long time. Mother, you are all right.

Or gently squirm a loose tooth.

Unhurried. and laughter in the curtain of tears.

Sing songs and ballads that are still fresh from childhood.

Memories are the snake of longing. Draw a word.

Meandering in, the remnants of the pain of my life.

Mother, you still don't hesitate to use this chapped tongue.

Lick up the poison of my pride. I'm in front of you.

It's always a child who doesn't grow up.

So, there is a vague topic called maternal love.

It is undoubtedly the most stupid wound of wanderers.

Mother, you are old.

The edge of the white porcelain vase has your leftover medicinal scent.

Su silk deep old years. In operation.

Wipe through the heart of love, but it is still today.

can't hide the crazy growth of your care.

The autumn wind has risen. Even in the lonely shadow, mother.

Don't catch a cold. Anytime, anywhere.

The setting sun clings to a crutch called a child.

And you, on the fertile soil that was nurtured.

The seeds covered by vegetation are germinating and growing.

And I, at the moment. I just want to hear you call.

My milk name. In a trance, mother.

It was as if I had returned to the courtyard, to the well where I had drawn water as a child.

1. Mourn your parents, give birth to me and work hard. - The Book of Poetry "Xiao Ya Tate".

2. When I came, my parents knew that they were in the next life, and they were like dying when they wore their clothes again. ——Wang Jian, "Crossing the Liao Water".

3. Put the mother on the ditch and leave the family white yin. When the moon heard Du Yu, the north and the south always cared. - Wang Anshi, "Fifteen".

4. The former mother is here, and the prodigal son does not feel cold. - Song of Persuasion of Filial Piety

5. Don't be happy if you have a child, don't sigh if you don't have a child. Qiaoshu Tang Han Yu.

6. The loving mother leans on the door, and the wanderer travels hard. - Mo Xuantu

7. Boil the beans and burn the beans, and the beans cry in the kettle. This is the same root, and he is too anxious to tell the potatoes. - Cao Zhi, "Seven Steps Poem").

8. The line in the mother's hand, and 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. ——Meng Jiao's "Socks Consumer's Wanderer's Yin".

9. The child's body will be born, and the mother's body is like being in prison. - Xu Xi's "Song of Persuasion of Filial Piety".

10. Mourn your parents, give birth to me. —The Book of Songs

11. After hard work, the mother is getting fatter. ——Bai Juyi, "Yan Poems Show Liu Suo".

12, go to the mother river beam, and look at the tears in the white hair. The miserable snowy night in Chaimen, at this time, it is better to have a son than nothing. - Huang Jingren, "Farewell Mother".

Poems in praise of the mother:

1, "The Wanderer's Yin" - Mengjiao in the Tang Dynasty.

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.

Translation: A kind mother with a needle and thread in her hand, rushing to make new clothes for her children who are about to travel. Before leaving, a stitch was tightly sewn, for fear that his son's clothes would be damaged if he came back late. Who said that a weak filial piety like Xiaocao can repay the kindness of a mother like Chunhui Puze?

2, "Coming Home at the Twilight" - Jiang Shiquan of the Qing Dynasty.

The love of 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.

Translation: There is no end to the love of the son, and the happiest thing is the timely return of the wanderer. The stitches of the sewing winter clothes are densely packed, and the handwriting and ink marks in the family letter are as if new.

Seeing that her son had lost weight, my mother was distressed and called me to ask me about the difficulties of the journey. Mother, my son is already ashamed of you, and he can't bear to tell you about the dust he has suffered while wandering abroad.

3, "Farewell Mother" - Huang Jingren of the Qing Dynasty.

Bow to the mother river beam, white hair and tears dry.

The miserable snowy night in Chaimen, at this time, it is better to have a son than nothing.

Translation: I was about to go to Heliang, I lifted the curtain and reluctantly said goodbye to my mother, my face was sad, sad and sad, and I wanted to cry without tears. On this snowy night, I can't do my filial piety by my mother's side but I have to cover the firewood door and go away miserably, I can't help but sigh:

What is the use of adopting a son? It's better not to have any.

4, "General Mother" - Wang Anshi of the Song Dynasty.

Put the mother on the ditch and leave the family white.

When the moon heard Du Yu, the north and the south always cared.

Translation: I took my mother to Hangou, but my family was still in Baixun. On the night of the full moon, the mother suddenly heard the voice of the cuckoo and remembered her son who was away from home. Although the south and the north are thousands of miles apart, there is still a deep concern in my heart.

5, "Mo Xuan Tu I" - the crown of the Yuan Dynasty.

Brilliant daylily flowers, under the North Hall of Rasheng.

The south wind blows its heart, and who does it shake and vomit for?

The loving mother leans on the door, and the wanderer travels hard.

The willingness is sparse day by day, and the sound is blocked by the day.

Raise your head to look at the cloud forest, and be ashamed to listen to the words of the wise bird.

Translation: The brilliant daylily flower is born under the north hall. The south wind blows the daylilies, swaying for whom is the fragrance?

The kind mother leaned against the door and looked forward to the child, and the wanderer who traveled far away was so miserable! The devotion to the parents is estranged every day, and the news of the children cannot be transmitted every day. Looking up at the high woods, I was ashamed to hear the call of the wise birds.

The poems in praise of the mother are as follows:1. The fetus in October is heavy, and the reward for three lives is light. - Song of Persuasion of Filial Piety

3. The mother and child have not been seen, and the child is uneasy. - Song of Persuasion of Filial Piety

4. The white-headed old mother covered the door and cried, and the sleeves of her shirt were not stopped. Han yu;

5. The four sons are scattered, and the mother's voice is still there. Li Qunyu.

6. Sier is the day of the chick, and when he flies high and carries his mother. Bai Juyi;

7. The former mother is here, and the prodigal son does not feel cold. - Song of Persuasion of Filial Piety

8. How many tears have always been stained by hand sewing clothes. PENG Gui;

9. The world is chaotic and pitiful, and the family is poor and depends on the mother's kindness. Du fu;

10. The sericulture can be a little, and the clothes are always new. Bao Rong;

11. Farewell to the old mother and son, calling the sky and the wild grass. White horses surround the flag, screaming and chasing each other. Li bai;

12. If the father is not kind, the son is not filial; If the brother is not a friend, the brother is disrespectful; If the husband is unjust, the woman will not be obedient. Yan Zhitui.

The hymns in praise of the mother are as follows:

1, "Parents' Love".

The love of parents is like a cup of strong tea, which needs us to savor it. If mother's love is a boat, carrying us from youth to maturity; Then father's love is a sea, giving us a happy harbor.

If the true feelings of the mother ignite the hope in our hearts; Then the father's love will be the sail that puffs up our voyage.

2, "Mom".

When I knew you, I was ten years old and you were thirty-five. You are the mother of Tuan Tuan's face, and your love is full of a basin of clean brother bath water, warm, almost floating me.

3, "Mother's Love".

There is a love that can feel her warmth no matter where you are, and there is a love that can feel her heartbeat no matter where you are, you are happy, she is happy. You mourn, she weeps. Only she will never need to treasure the laughter, but she will never forget.

4, "Mother's Poems".

Your greatness has condensed my flesh and blood. Your greatness has shaped my soul. Your life is a voyage of love.

You use the beautiful annual rings to make a calendar that exudes the fragrance of ink. I spend every year in your affection, frolicking on your shoulders and knees.

5, "Eternal Mother".

When the first time you open your shirt and open your newborn eyes, the first thing you see is the incomparably holy and kind gaze and tears of joy of the mother, the eyes are unblinking, staring at your hazy and ignorant heart in detail, instinctively rhythmic but unable to express family affection.

The warmest room I've ever lived in is your womb.

Finish. Small table. Very. Surely silk. Defile! You just.