Essay for primary school students Love is something that cannot be forgotten

Love is something that cannot be forgotten.

The sun shines with light and heat, and the moon shines brightly.

One thunderstorm night, the cold wind was howling outside the window, and I was immersed in a sweet dream. Suddenly, I was awakened by the sound of footsteps, and I was getting closer and closer. I think it must have been my mother, who used to come at night to help find the quilt.

Sure enough, the quilt moved, covering my cold feet, and my mother tucked the quilt on my shoulders tightly. Suddenly, it was very warm, and my heart was full of gratitude to my mother. Ouch!

It hurts a little! A hand slid across my forehead, gently removing the hair from my eyelashes. How?

Is it a mother's hand? Isn't that the mother's hand in my memory? My head was full of question marks, and I couldn't breathe.

So, I carefully opened one eye slightly, and ah! The blurred hands were full of marks, black and black, which must have been made when cutting the red summer vine. I tried to open it a little more, and I saw it!

See! It was clearly my mother's hand, the scar on my hand was like a wave in the wind, uneven, and a few fingers were like bare tree poles, lacking life, without the softness of the past, and on the whole, it was no different from a withered yellow leaf. Suddenly, my nose was sour, and my heart was very uncomfortable, is this the beautiful landscape in my mind?

No, no, I didn't want that, I was trying to stop my mother, but she left. I opened my eyes, tears wetting my eyelashes, and watched my mother's distant back as she staggered and hammered her waist with both hands. At this time, I wanted to go over and massage her, to smooth out her uneven hands, those dull, rounded hands, those hands like wilted garcinia cambogia leaves, those ......

It is precisely because of these ordinary and ordinary hands that I have walked through 14 springs, summers, autumns and winters safely and comfortably, pointing out the right direction for my life path and giving me my own pursuit goals. Thank you, mother's hands, for the beautiful landscape in my heart.

Mother, I will definitely return your beautiful hands when I grow up!

It's easy to write.

You imagine it boldly.

Put the demeanor, action, psychology, and language of the characters.

Just write it out completely.

Here's a word of advice to you, don't rely on anyone to do anything, only yourself.

Last year, I was seriously ill and didn't go to school for months. Teachers and classmates all called ** to care about me, asking this and that. I missed my classmates more and more, so I asked my mom to take me to school.

As soon as I arrived at the door of the classroom, someone shouted, "Benkai is here!" "The students rushed up and surrounded the hallway.

Are you alright? Does it still hurt? "And others said loudly:

Exams are coming up. "Zhena told me what to take the ** test, what to test in art. Shichen went to help me get the English test paper.

Star was so excited that she cried and kept wiping her eyes. The teacher said distressedly, "It's so thin that I can't even recognize it."

After my efforts, I finally finished my homework. Art, ** got "excellent". The teacher also praised me for writing great essays.

The words and deeds of my teachers and classmates made me feel deeply loved, and although I was weak, I felt warm in my heart. Although a year has passed, these scenes are still vivid in my mind and will not be forgotten for a long time. I think:

I'm afraid I'll never forget these things, and I want to care for others with the same love.

Brother's love guarantees you eternal forgetting.

Because it's philosophy.

After giving our mother a sharp pain, we cried and looked at her smiling eyes, which were the first sights of our lives, and it was those eyes that kept watching us until they could no longer hold their eyelids.

The first "mother" we shouted when we were babbling, and the immature words we made to our mothers; When we were young, we were coquettish and inadvertently a word of gratitude; When we grew up, our occasional greetings would add a few crow's feet to the corners of my mother's smiling eyes.

Mothers are easily satisfied, giving the most and taking the least.

Once, the teacher assigned me to write an essay about my mother, and I didn't know how to start today. 'Didn't my mother care enough about me?' No, it must not be, so what? I thought.

I decided to cut a kite first. Maybe I'll figure it out in a moment.

But I couldn't find my scissors, so I asked my mother; Mom, my scissors are gone! Mom said, "Wait, Mom will find you something?"

There was a sound of rummaging through the cabinets.

Here you go, I looked at it and was stunned. The edge of the scissors was in my mother's hand, and my mother handed me the handle of the scissors.

I understood, wrote such a passage on paper.

Mother's love, he is ordinary and great. Sometimes it's a scissors handle handed over to attention, sometimes it's a sliced apple for care.

Mother's love is not as noble and elegant as peony, not as poetic as roses, nor as fragrant as jasmine, she is like a plum blossom, in the cold winter for people to send fragrance, but in the warm spring to hide itself is its world-wide fragrance.