What are the common metaphors for mothers in poetry, and what are the poems about singing the praise

This is a poem written by someone else, not famous.

If you put the mother.

Likened to a bow.

I am the arrow on the bow.

Mother would rather break her bones.

And take the child me.

Sent to the top of life.

If you put the mother.

Likened to a bridge.

Let me bend her spine.

Mother wants me too.

Delivered to the other side of the ideal.

Mother is a bright moon.

I am a cloud beside my mother, and whenever I study in the middle of the night, you often accompany me with a smiling face.

Mother is a high mountain, your majestic body, standing on the earth and the sky when I see it.

Mother is keeping watch under the locust tree at the entrance of the village.

Expectant eyes.

Sons and daughters waiting for their return.

A thin figure in the cold wind.

Wisps of gray hair.

My nose is always sour.

Tears are always always.

Flowing down without a fight.

The mother of the child is worried.

In fact, children travel hundreds, ten, or even five miles.

Just get out of your mother's sight.

Even if it's a step, half a step.

Mother's heart is always tugging.

When I saw my children return safely.

Mother's smile is the brightest.

The fallen leaves float out of autumn, and the thoughts of the season float out.

The geese flying south carry their attachment to the north.

The water flowing eastward hides the tears of reluctance.

In the bustling city.

I often dream about it in my dreams.

But it's that little village.

The mother is likened to an angel who watches out, the angel has a pair of wings, and under the wings is a small house, which is home, children, love, and tears.

Compare the mother to the state.

The mother is compared to the soil, and the father is compared to water and sunshine.

Some people compare the mother to a mountain because she gives the child to rely on, some people compare the mother to a river because she nourishes the child's life, and some people compare the mother to the sea.

It is likened to sweet spring water, nourishing our young hearts.

It is likened to a warm haven that gives us strength and protects us.

It is a wake-up call for the soul and a revelation for our lives!

Thank you for sprinkling flowers + applause. Hey hey

Mother is everyone's belonging and attachment, she gives us love with her body, protects us to grow, and there are many poems praising mothers in reality.

1. Poetry] Mother's love.

2, I'm your black **'s mother.

Poems about mothers2007-05-25 19:42Poems to mothers.

3, Meng Jiao's "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.

4, Bai Juyi's "Yan Poems Show Liu Suo" selection.

Sir 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.

5, Han Yu's "Who's Son" selection.

The white-headed old mother covered the door and cried, pulling up the sleeves of her shirt and leaving it behind.

6, Wang Anshi "Fifteen".

The mother will be on the ditch and leave the family white and yin.

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

7, Huang Jingren "Farewell Mother".

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

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

8, Jiang Shiquan "Arriving Home at the Twilight".

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.

9, Song Lingyun "Remembering Father".

Wu Shuyanyun broke the ruler book, how can the two places hate it?

The dream soul is not afraid of Chang'an, and he has taken the wind several times to ask about life.

10, Yu Gong "Thinking of Mother".

The frost fell and the tears were wet, and the white head was not leaning on the firewood.

In the Huangmei rain in May last year, Zeng pawned the robe and returned to the rice.

11, Ni Ruixuan's "Remembering Mother".

The river is difficult to navigate, and I don't know if it is close.

12, Peng Gui's "Jianchu Brother Came to the Capital Province with Great Joy".

There have always been many tears, and they have been stained with hand-sewn clothes.

Hello young lady, can I use half a year to arrive?

"The Wanderer's Song".

Meng Jiao's mother's hand is on the line, and the wanderer's shirt is on top.

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

Whoever says an inch is careless, and he will be rewarded with three springs.

Bai Juyi's "Yan Poems Show Liu Sue" selection.

Sir 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.

3, Han Yu's "Who's Son" selection.

The white-headed old mother covered the door and cried, pulling up the sleeves of her shirt and leaving it behind.

4, Wang Anshi's "Fifteen".

The mother will be on the ditch and leave the family white and yin.

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

5, Huang Jingren "Farewell Mother".

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

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

6, Jiang Shiquan "Arriving Home at the Twilight".

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.

7, Song Lingyun "Remembering Father".

Wu Shuyanyun broke the ruler book, how can the two places hate it?

The dream soul is not afraid of Chang'an, and he has taken the wind several times to ask about life.

8, Yu Gong "Thinking of Mother".

The frost fell and the tears were wet, and the white head was not leaning on the firewood.

In the Huangmei rain in May last year, Zeng pawned the robe and returned to the rice.

10, "The Grave of the Mother in the West".

Don Chan went to illness.

The shadow of the sun on the top of the high cover mountain is faint, and the independent birds are scarce at dusk.

The dripping wine in the forest was empty and weeping, and Ding Ning didn't see Ding Ning asking to return early.

11, "Will Return to the Old Mountain and Leave Mengjiao".

Don Bao Rong. There is no sharp blade in the selection of wood, and there is no ingenuity in the envy of fish.

How not to measure the strength and take the middle of the poor.

The former is not tired of farming and does not leave his relatives for a day.

Thousands of miles away, my mind is not in my body.

A mother's heart, only wishes are like people.

The sericulture can be a little, and the clothes are always new.

A meal of spitting ruler silk, who sees this courtesy.

Don't go back to the plough and burn the wheels with fire.

12, "Send Zhang Shenming Jingju and Jingzhou Province".

Don Meng Haoran.

Fifteen years of colorful clothes, before the mother of Chenghuan.

Filial piety because of the year of tribute, Huai orange to Qinchuan.

Four tweets, Zhonglang Xu Zhongxuan.

Don't go boating on the river, who doesn't look up to the gods.

13, "Thinking of Mother".

Don & Gong. The frost fell and the tears were wet, and the white head was not leaning on the firewood.

In the Huangmei rain in May last year, Zeng pawned the robe and returned to the rice.

14, "Mo Xuan Tu".

Yuan Wangmian. Mo Xuan Tu one.

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.

Mo Xuan Tu" II.

Daylilies are born in the north hall, and the color is bright and good.

Have a spare drink for it, but what can you do about it?

If the Son of Man is filial, is he glorious?

Last night, it was rainy and frosty, and the river was old.

The wanderer failed to return, and he felt emotional.

15, "Fifteen".

Song Wang Anshi.

The mother will be on the ditch and leave the family white and yin.

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

A loving mother loves her son, not for retribution. Han Liu An.

In October, the fetus is heavy, and the three lives are light. "Song of Persuasion of Filial Piety".

One foot and three inches of baby, ten and eight years of work. "Song of Persuasion of Filial Piety".

The mother is called the child lying dry, and the mother is sleeping wet. "Song of Persuasion of Filial Piety".

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

The old mother is 100 years old and often misses her 80 sons. "Song of Persuasion of Filial Piety".

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

Thousands of loves, thousands of graces, love me, who know my parents? "Children's Language".

The white-headed old mother covered the door and cried, pulling up the sleeves of her shirt and leaving it behind. Tang Han Yu Mu Yi Hui Tong tube, Wu Su Shen Mang Silent Night Terrace. "Collection of Aphorisms".

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. Tang Mengjiao.

Xi Mengmu, choose a neighbor. If you don't learn, you will be cut off. "Three Character Classic".

Mother, the first parent in the world; Mother's love, the first love in the world. The word is strict.

The only unpolluted love in the world is motherly love. When Ziyan succeeds, everyone is a friend. But only the mother - she is the partner when she fails. Zheng Zhenduo mourns his parents and gives birth to me. The Book of Songs

What is it like to have no father, and what is it necessary to be without a mother? The Book of Songs

The virtue of the father, the inheritance of the son. The word is strict.

Parents Degao; Good education for children. Aphoristic Couplet

Don't be happy if you have a child, don't sigh if you don't have a child. Tang Hanyu.

People see that it is good to give birth to boys and girls, but they don't know that men and women urge people to grow old. Tang Wang built the world's all-in-one parents; The rarest brother in the world. "Aphorisms".

Being a parent is the best in the world; As a child, the world is filial piety. "Aphorisms".

My father gave birth to me, my mother bowed to me, caressed me, raised me, grew me, nurtured me, cared for me, and restored me. The Book of Songs

If the father is not kind, the son is not filial; If the brother is not a friend, the brother is disrespectful; The husband is unjust.

The woman is not going well. The North and the South are pushing Yan.

There are no virtuous fathers and brothers in life, there are no strict teachers and friends outside, and there are few successful people. Song Lu Gong wrote what his parents wanted, and I will continue to describe it; What my parents recount, I love. "Aphorisms".

In the afterglow, there are three songs on the mother's day.

1. This life and this life.

Two of my most heartless cries were.

Once, at the beginning of my life.

Once, at the end of your life.

The first time, I won't remember, was to hear from you.

You won't know, and it's useless for me to say it.

But in the middle of the two cries.

There was endless laughter.

Over and over again.

It reverberated for thirty years.

You know it, I remember it.

2. A world of contradictions.

Happy world.

We met.

You greet me with a smile.

And I will answer you with a great cry.

Shocking, earth-moving.

O sad world.

In the end we broke up.

I send you to cry.

And you answered me speechlessly.

Close the sky, close the earth.

A world of contradictions.

Whether it's the first time you see you or you say goodbye.

I'm always crying at you.

The world of crying begins with you laughing.

And happiness finally closes your eyes.

3. Heaven and Earth.

Every year to Mother's Day.

Always holding the ** tube.

Would love to dial one**.

To my long-lost mother.

Just to listen to it again.

It's okay once. Hypnotic magnetic vowels.

But where she lives.

I don't know what the number is.

Besides, she was already asleep.

Can't pick up my **.

This is a long-distance station.

Exactly what you want. Which country?

What should I do?

Kingdom of Heaven, what is the prefix?

Difu, how many area codes are there?

That impatient wireman.

The tart cuts the line.

Leave it to my hand.

Is it a wire or a broken umbilical cord?

Even if it's really connected.

And what can I say.

The world is from after you left.

It becomes unrecognizable.

The only constant is that.

Eternal gratitude to you.

A piece of wood, in the hearth, burned out.

Mother, she will add another piece of wood to the hearth...

The eighty-year-old mother, who is also a piece of wood, in an invisible stove, every day, burns a little, and then falls, a layer of ashes....

The fire she had left, still boiling, a desolate countryside...<>

The night fog is cool, surrounding the mountains, pine and bamboo, small courtyards, and birds and insects singing.

But it can't surround the front door of the hometown, whether the weak light and the cane are still beside the mother.

The wrinkles on the mother's face, whether they have been frozen.

On the blackened wooden table, our favorite foods have been placed, crispy pork, cured pork ribs, dumplings, vermicelli hoof flower soup, and my mother's secret bean curd and kimchi.

And our milk names, and the younger generations, dancing and rapping.

Above the table, there was still the father's wine glass, half a plate of peanuts, and the mother's nagging.

took off his padded jacket, covered his old cold legs, and staggered with his mother.

Brushing his mother's white hair, flipping through the illiterate kindness, and the vicissitudes of sunrise and sunset.

Crawling on the edge of the bed, let the mother guess how long the journey away from home was.

Identifying the mark on the ear, and the appearance of the croaking to the ground, rubbing the calluses on his hands, and holding his mother's leaning and lifting tightly in the palm of his hand.

hugged Gu Xi's mother, and his mother's Gu Xi, and hugged it tightly, and the four generations of our family were in the same house.

In my mother's arms, I carried our childhood, which we would never grow up.

Sing the praises of mothers. 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.