Today, when I was watching poetry appreciation online, I saw a poem "Ode to a Wanderer" by Meng Jiao, a poet in the Tang Dynasty. "The thread in the hands of a loving mother makes clothes for the wayward boy's body. Before leaving, I had a stitch for fear that my son would come back late and his clothes would be damaged. However, an inch of long grass is a bit sentimental, and it is rewarded with three spring rays. " This poem only goes through a very common scene, where a mother sews clothes for her son who is about to travel far away. In fact, from this point of view, this is only a very small thing, but it reflects the love of a loving mother. Motherly love is often revealed in the most subtle places in daily life, and it doesn't need to feel people's words, which reminds me of my mother-

I remember I was sixteen when I came out to work. My mother was silently helping me pack my bags. From her eyes, I can see that she has too much reluctance, but there is nothing I can do. Although some relatives took me out, she was still very worried and kept telling me to call back to report my safety no matter how late I was. I wanted to cry, too. I thought I was going to leave my home where I had lived for more than ten years to work in a relative's home far away, but when I saw my mother sad, I still held back my tears. Until now, my mother has been cleaning up the scene in the team, and the eyes that saw me off in the car are still vivid. Maybe this is the love that my mother has nothing to say, what she wants to say, and what she can't say!

Every time I go home, I feel uncomfortable for several days. Every time I come up, my mother always stands on the balcony and looks at me from a distance because of mobility difficulties. That impatient and loving look made me want to see it, but I didn't have the courage to see it.

Going home this year, I feel that my mother is much older. Maybe it was a long time before I saw her. My mother has been in poor health, so this year is really haggard. I feel really painful when I see it, and I feel useless. I'm really at a loss, and I can't make my mother's body get better soon. For so many years, my mother has been quietly paying for us, but we can't give her anything, as Meng Xiao wrote, "But nothing grows, so much love. Yes, my mother's love is as rich as the sunshine in spring. How can we repay our children like grass?

The warbler goes to swallow, and the spring goes. My mother's face is getting old, and I'm growing up day by day. I'm getting married, and my mother is getting old day by day. Maybe one day, she will leave us forever. Even how beautiful words we use can't tell her love, and a ruler can't measure how long her love is. She spent most of her life raising me and teaching me. What can I give her? The most important thing for me now is to honor her and make her feel gratified.

Some people say that maternal love is the eternal theme of literature and music. Literati take maternal love as the theme, and their articles are extremely moist and memorable; The musicians are mainly maternal love, and the tunes they play are soft and beautiful, with a long aftertaste. I think maternal love is the eternal theme in my life. I take maternal love as my topic, and the way out is warm, happy and full of sunshine.

Thank you all. . .