An article about maternal love poems who has it

Meng Jiao: Wanderer's Yin.

The line in the mother's hand, the wanderer's shirt.

Before leaving, I am afraid that I will return late.

Who is careless and repays three springs?

The prose poems about motherly love are as follows:1, "Looking Up at Mother's Love".

Alone in the city. Listen to a drop of dew lying on the murmur of a red cuckoo.

I miss my mother's love.

Nostalgic for the home of the cane.

I miss the childhood when my mother snuggled in the crook of my arm, and the childhood when my palm flowed like cane.

And in childhood, it was a white dragonfly on the shoulders of his younger brother, and he fled when he moved.

Although the appearance of childhood has changed, the classical family affection is still the same, and the most is maternal love.

Look up to mother's love. Mother's love is the burning sun, the candle illuminates my tired wandering, and embellishes my vicissitudes of pursuit.

In the rainy season when the sun is lost, my mother's love accompanies me.

Let the ups and downs of fate and hardship tomorrow, I still stick to that initial perseverance.

Look up and complain about motherly love.

The posture of the mother ploughing, bitter and hard, clear as yesterday, like a crop in the wind, matured into the quaint image in the poem of Li Shen of the Tang Dynasty.

Look up to mother's love. I have a lifelong devotion in my hands historically.

2. "Poems to Mother".

Mother, for a long time.

I just want to write a poem for you.

But it was written many times.

Still not written.

Mother, this poem for you.

I don't know how to start.

I don't know how to end it.

I don't know what to write about.

It's like a harsh slap in the face of you as a child.

I don't know if it's time to be brave enough to accept it.

Or should you choose to escape.

Mother, I think of you again tonight.

I've decided to write a poem for you anyway.

Even if it's not well written.

Even if you are far away from home.

Never read ......

Mother! You are the lotus leaf, I am the red lotus.

The raindrops in my heart are coming, who is my shade under the unobstructed sky except you?

Mother! Leave aside your sorrows, and let me sink into your bosom.

Only you are the settlement of my soul.

The little socks also wanted to raise their heads and thank Chunguang for their love--but the deep gift made her finally silent.

Mother, are you the spring light?

Mother! It's bits and pieces.

Can you take a look?

These words were hidden in your heart before I was there.

Mother! The storm in heaven came, and the bird hid in its nest;

The storm in my heart came, and I only hid in your arms.

I'm not a good son.

Jia Pingwa's prose.

It was only after I was forty years old, after decades of frustration and frustration in my ambitious career and love that I realized that it was not my son.

Figure 1. The greatness of a mother is not only to give birth to a son of flesh and blood, but also that she does not expect anything in return from her son, no matter how far away from her and how close he is, she will always make his son have affection, strength, and roots. On the road of life, my mother is a gas station.

My mother has been in the countryside all her life, she has no culture, she is not good at speaking, and she only sees the shadow in the sky. She didn't know what I was doing in the far away city, the only thing she knew was that I could write, and she said that my eyes kept blinking when I wrote, and she worried about my suffering, "Can I finish writing in the world?!" ”

Stop me again and again. A few years ago, every time my mother went to live in the city, she would always sew winter clothes for me and my children, and the cotton was very thick, so that I was always afraid that I would catch the cold, and as a result, my children and I were dressed as clumsy as bears.

Figure II. She is not used to living in the city, she thinks that she eats too much oil, there are too many people, the lights in the living room are not extinguished, and things are thrown away as soon as they are old.

I can't stand us beating and scolding the child, the child doesn't cry, but she cries, and after a fight with me, she gets angry and goes back to the countryside. My mother came happily every time, and she went back angry every time.

When I went back, I didn't miss her, and I didn't even dream of her every night for a year. My mother's kindness to me is that I don't think my mother is good to me, when I am proud, I forget my mother's existence, when I have grievances, I want to tell my mother, cry in front of her.