Kneel down and beg for 2 articles on the theme of love

What kind of love is it? Maternal love? Love? Love for the Motherland?

Listen closely, the long-dormant bell has been faintly ringing in the distance, and the colorful hope in the new story is heard in the evening breeze. Looking up, the sky was still the same endless blue.

Singing, praying, blessings. All kinds of voices echo in love.

Love, I am moved.

Love, a mysterious and true word, a sacred and simple emotion, I once ignored its existence, but it has not left, and it has been with me for 13 years, but I don't know it, and I spend it extravagantly. Love, I am moved.

The truest love in the world comes from your loved ones. Yes, my mother's love for me has always been real, my mother's love for me is so much, she gave me life, she gave me my soul, she gave me the truest love of life. Isn't that the truest love?

Love, I am moved.

Friend's love is the most simple, it does not have any gorgeous words, it makes me feel a down-to-earth dedication, just like the spring drizzle, soft, although there is no gorgeous color, but there is a down-to-earth feeling, this love can not be replaced, in my heart moved again and again.

There is also a kind of love that I will use for a lifetime, this love is different from the former, perhaps, this love is sometimes a little harsh, but he (she) loves us, just like the winter snow covers the young shoots of spring, although it is cold to the bone, but it is to save nutrition for a better life in the future. This love is very ordinary, almost everyone exists in their life, but ordinary does not mean mediocre, this love is the divine teacher love.

Every love touches me because they are the greatest forces in the world, and to have them is to have the whole world.

Love, I am moved.

Kid paper you are in 6th grade? Is love or love? Love? Silver and silver give a love? I need to make it clear.

Hehe, I'll give you a rough description of what to do, and I'll make it up yourself.

A mother and daughter were begging on the street, destitute and hungry for days. One or two forced the young people to eat well and dress well, drank drinks and shook their heads, stuffed headphones and threw them a dime, continued to sway away, the mother and daughter's hearts were cold, even if they received an unbearable look, a kind smile, the woman was dressed in tatters, the bruises on her arms were everywhere, her body was full of stench, and the people on the street avoided walking, she saw the chengguan car not far away, her eyes showed horror, and she took all her belongings - just a broken bowl and a bunch of change. Holding the child, stumbling to get away from them, but was stopped, the woman closed her eyes sadly, and protected her daughter in her arms, just begging not to hurt her young and innocent daughter, clear tears slid down her thin cheeks, and a big man of five big and three thick came around, and a punch and kick were indispensable...

But at this moment! We drop heroes appear birds! A literary young man came over and picked up the woman casually, and said, "Auntie, you go to my house to rest, I happen to have some clothes and shoes at home, by the way.

His eyes swept the chengguan slightly, "By the way, I will give you some medicine for your injuries." When the chengguan heard this, they walked away, and the woman looked at him gratefully, and her eyes were as clear as a pool of spring water, and the girl also looked at him with innocent eyes, this and that.

And then what is gratitude, thank you, good man, the woman turned out to come to the city to visit relatives and got lost, and then helped her find a home, his family also gave him a thank you gift, he didn't accept it, what if everyone gave a love If the world has more care for the poor people, love can't be said.

Anyway, I hope it can help you, hehe.

The following scolded me, alas, child, I know you are unloving, so you don't have to show it.

Some people say: Father's love is as light as a chrysanthemum. I think it is true, father's love is like a chrysanthemum with a faint fragrance, not as strongly expressed as mother's love.

My father has always been a strong supporter for me. I flinched, and he cheered me on; I failed, and he gave me encouragement ......Sometimes, I think my dad doesn't care enough about me, but when I think about it, he has done a lot for me! When I first entered elementary school, I had no concept of composition at all, and when the teacher asked me to remember one thing or one person, I mostly used a few pens and heartless words to write down a running account and cope with things.

Later, one day, my father suddenly asked to read my essay, and he laughed and shook his head. From then on, every time I finished writing an essay, my father would take the initiative to help me revise it, and only after I had corrected it did I have to copy it neatly and hand it to the teacher. Probably when I was in the second grade, there was an essay title assigned by the teacher was "My Dad and I Compare My Childhood", mainly to let us understand the two heavens of the old and new societies through comparison, socialism is good, capitalism is bad and so on.

We should cherish today's hard-won happy life. Growing up, I never heard my father tell me about his childhood, so I went home and pestered him to tell me about the past. My father's story is very good, with many touching plots, but when it comes to my pen, it has become a heartless running account.

Naturally, such an essay will not be able to pass the father's level in the first place. My father took the page I had written and revised it, and I jumped out into the yard to find my friends to jump rubber bands. By the time I came home sweaty, I found that my essay had gone from one page to three pages.

I immediately shouted coquettishly, "It's so long, how long is this going for me to copy?" My father ignored me, turned around and went to the living room to watch TV.

I reluctantly copied the three-page essay, but I didn't expect that after the essay was handed in, it would be read aloud by the teacher as an excellent model essay for the class. When the teacher commented on the sincerity and touching nature of my essay on the podium, my heart really felt like honey, not to mention how beautiful and sweet it was......Maybe I've been a great person since I was a child, but since the essay was praised and read aloud by the teacher, I have become addicted to the feeling of fluttering after being praised. In order to keep being praised by my teachers in the future, I began to ask my father to help me revise my essays.

I said it was a revision, but in fact, I basically asked my father to write the essay for me. Every time I got the essay topic, I just scribbled two random strokes, then pushed the scratch paper into my father's hand and said, "Change it!"

Then he went out on his own. My father didn't complain, and he meticulously helped me revise it every time, and many times it was basically equivalent to rewriting it for me. Dad silently cared for me and paid for me silently.

Now, now that I've grown up, I realize how much the title "father" has helped me the most.