Women's Day Poetry

-A song for my mother

Stepping on the breath of spring

This beautiful day

Fuck you and fuck me.

My heart is as warm as the sea.

I really want to sing a carol for you.

I am neither a singer nor a poet.

I can't write a melody or sing a poem.

I lack flash inspiration and genius thinking.

I am ashamed that the deepest love can't be explained by a trickle.

But today,

I want to present a heart song for you.

May my song become a needle and thread.

Sew up the split wound for you.

May my songs turn into raindrops.

Moisten throat and quench thirst.

May my songs turn into clouds.

Bring fragrance to your life.

My original song turned into a cloud.

Refracting the luster of the sun for you

it's you

Gave me a beating pulse.

it's you

Gave me the joy of my childhood.

it's you

Teach me to take my time in adversity

2. Mother

Years climb on your forehead,

Time flies on my shoulders,

In the morning light, you smile,

There are still many vicissitudes,

Hold up my soft wings.

That sweet and delicious meal,

A warm and soft sweater;

Tireless teaching;

The complex of life is closely connected with me,

After being dissolved in the blood,

In the bone marrow,

In my heart,

Your love touched me.

I finally know that there is one thing in this world,

Richer than the water in the Yangtze River,

More thrilling than the Yellow River;

Tougher and evergreen than the green of pine and cypress;

That's your love,

Your deep love,

Selfless love,

My mother.

Step 3: Hands

I don't understand everything you gave me.

You polish my eyes.

So the world opened before my eyes.

I started walking up and down this strange street.

But you can always see a pair of big hands protecting and guiding.

I am chasing these big hands and stroking their vicissitudes covered by history.

However, I can't help sighing about the lost time.

It's these eager eyes.

You never stop, you must keep going.

I don't know what the destination is.

Your soul has left your body.

Does the soul not feel tired?

The world will eventually be gathered by eyes.

The street you walk on will no longer be strange.

Looking at those beautiful big hands, my eyes blurred.