Give me a perfect score essay

The most beautiful is always the mother.

I watched the program of the "2014 Moving China" award ceremony, and their love, sense of responsibility and dedication deeply touched me and strongly shook my heart.

Among the top ten characters, Yao Houzhi's deeds left a deep impression on me.

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.

Who would know that a grassroots mother turned into perseverance before falling flowers, and who would know that a mother melted into eternity before the waning moon. And this mother, who is about to reach the end of her years, is Yao Houzhi.

Suffering from breast cancer, she spent three years weaving her strong love for her children. When I saw her, when our eyes met, my soul was detached from my body, my identity, my interests, everything I had, and the world became extraordinarily silent. The bell no longer "ticks", the river no longer flows, and the dead leaves no longer fall with the wind.

I saw only one mother, covered in thorns sucking the blood of her life, but she looked back and smiled tiredly. It's as simple as that.

At this moment, I froze, I forgot my surprise, I forgot my emotion, I forgot my numbness, I just stood there dumbfounded, watching the figure blur in my vision until it disappeared.

Not only do you sew up embroidery paintings, but also make up the impossible possible, sew up the fragments of children's dreams, make up the bridge of hope, and make up the warm fragrance.

You are not the green leaves lining the saffron, not the long stems that support the whole, not the bright sunshine, not the soft spring rain You are like the roots silently in the ground, you are the unique mother! Nothing can replace you, it can't explain you.

No one asks about the fallen flowers, and the residual leaves will eventually have to melt into the soil. And you can only use the embroidery made of love, tie it to the child's black hair that has changed from short to long, and tie it with the vicissitudes of life on the face.

You have made our hearts no longer numb, no longer let us be lost by the expansion of material desires, no longer let money and power occupy our hearts, no longer let the coordinates of our lives tilt Let us begin to discover that in fact, we have been standing in the wrinkled temples of old age.

For love, you turn into a seawall, and you have to protect the spring of your dreams even if the wind blows and the waves blow.

Although the morning light has cut the dream into a wisp of smoke, I still stared blankly, your fading back, and the warmth that has never faded

From her body, the obscure persistence of the world is reflected: they turn all the energy of their body and mind into a little bit of love, passing on the hope of the future. They are ordinary and great, and they deserve to be cherished.

In this regard, the counseling line.