About author:Born in 1970 in Luoyang, Henan. He graduated from the Luopu Academy of Fine Arts in Luoyang, Henan in 1992 and the Tsinghua Academy of Fine Arts in 2016. Specializes in animal painting.
My father was born in a troubled world, grew up in a barren year, and died at the age of eighty-two. Every time I come to qingming, the drizzle is like the long tears of my weeping father, and the pain is in my heart, and I can't send it. Therefore, he wrote a memorial to commemorate his nurturing grace.
His father was from the land of Heluo, and he was the son of a single heirloom. At an early age, he lived with his grandmother in his uncle's house. After returning to his former home, his home was full of grass. There is no upper half of the tile to cover the body, and there is no thin field under the body. It all depends on my father's day and night work. Its handsomeness is lonely and bitter, and the shadows are hanging from each other. The door is weak and weak.
Later, he married my mother, had eight children, and unfortunately died two women and a man, and whenever he thought about this, his father was often sad and sad. Because Nian Yu was the youngest and knew his heart, he loved him twice. My Father knows what he loves with me.
I was born in the seventies, and its age is embarrassing, only can be fed, and the clothes can still be warm. However, whenever I think of my childhood, I often feel warm and happy, thanks to my father's love. Although my brother and sister were jealous, my father was still the same and unmoved.
When he reached adulthood, he knew that he was grateful to my father, but he was already a wife and mother, and his feelings were gratifying, and his heart was tired. Thinking that my father is in good health, he will be able to provide for himself for a day. Who knows how to die suddenly. I only felt that the world was falling apart, and I thought that there was no tree in the world to hide from. How can we not grieve in the mountains of the mountains?
The Father has been dead for seven years, and whenever he thinks of it, he often weeps bitterly. Whoops my Father, how can he answer me? Ghoul my Father, when will I be able to answer to me?
I cry to my Father for a reason: If there is suffering in this life, who can sue? If there are difficulties in this life, who can entrust them?
I love my Father, and his attitude is amiable: broad-minded, handsome, tall and strong, and no one can match his children.
I think of my Father, and his heart knows: Who in the world loves me as deeply as my Father? Does it hurt me? Mercy on me, love for me?
I respect my father, and his virtues are admirable: poor and unyielding, mighty and unyielding, rich and noble, old and weak, benevolent and loyal, and filial piety. Admire for me.
I hurt my father, and his pain is hidden: when I was a child, I had no father, no brothers, no sisters, no good mother, no virtuous wife, but I met a rebellious son, and his life was miserable, which made me miserable.
I pity my father, whose talents are good: he is known for his poetry, his fine skills, and his political ethics and integrity are all admired by everyone.
I mourn my Father, and there is no reward for my kindness: all those who are in distress, whether they are alive or dead, whether they are alive or near, will be relieved. And there is no anger, no resentment, no remorse.
I have pity for my father, and I am ashamed of my pity: my father is old, just when my son is young, his life is difficult, he has no way to support him, and he has become a lifelong regret.
alack! Oh my Father! Oh my Father! Woe to my Father! Pity my Father! If you can't raise it in this life, what is the use of the sacrifice? Only by remembering Yu's filial piety and honoring it to my mother, can we comfort my father's teachings headed by virtue and filial piety during his lifetime. Heaven forbid! Why did I become a fatherless and orphan daughter in my prosperous years! Impermanence is resentful! How can I let my father and daughter be separated from each other, and never be able to see! I wonder if my father can perceive my heart, prostrate himself and mourn, weep blood to bow to the spirit of the deceased father in heaven, and mourn the feelings of shame and sorrow!