When she was young, her mother took good care of her sweet milk and watched her child grow up day by day.
In childhood, the mother is like a burden, always selfless, and does not ask for anything in return to protect the child.
The young child, the mother is a big ship, carrying us to the sea. To pursue the mysteries of life, to explore the wonders of the world.
Young us, the mother's thread that sewed clothes for the wanderer is the longest thread in the world.
In middle age, our mother is leaning on the door, walking through thousands of mountains and rivers, tasting all the sour, sweet and bitter, and finally feeling the warmest in the arms of the mother.
Mother's love is like a poem, long and pure, and mother's love is like a landscape painting, fresh and natural. Maternal love is like a soulful song, gentle and melodious. Mother's love is like a stream, always flowing slowly in the heart.
Full of silver wire, the ears are getting more and more back, and the mother is faltering. There is still no stagnation after the pupae of the silkworm, and there is no termination after the wax torch has turned to ash. It is not an exaggeration to say that she is like an obscure and laboring cow, and has been setting an example for us.
Mother's love is like an umbrella, shielding her children from the wind and rain, and the greatness of mother's love is like heaven and earth.