Chang Yuguo | mother and little oil lamp

Spoon-sized,

Made of pig iron,

There's an opening in front of it,

Behind it is a handle.

Pour vegetable oil into it,

Put the rope into the oil.

The rope burns bright as a bean in the opening,

This is the mother's oil lamp.

Whenever night, this little oil lamp,

With the mother.

In those poor times,

Bring a warm light to my home.

How much heat and cold have you survived,

How many spring, summer, autumn and winter have been spent.

Warm the whole family to illuminate my childhood,

Accompany your mother throughout her life.

On a crisp late autumn night,

There was this oil lamp on the ground.

It looked silently at the toiling mother,

It listened quietly to the hum of the spinning wheel.

Cotton wool turned into thin threads on the mother's hand,

The spinning wheel shook mother's vision of life.

The light of the mournful flowers reflects the tired mother,

White ingots were erected in the basket.

Late at night the cold dew can not invade my dreamland,

The oil lamp accompanied her mother to stay up until four more.

The window paper vibrated with the cold wind of midwinter,

On the broken table at the head of the bed was this oil lamp.

Mother cut open the newly woven cotton,

Stitch a needle in the patch.

Waking up from a dream several times,

I saw the tired silhouette of my mother.

From time to time she came over and tucked me into the corner of the quilt,

It was back to accompany the oil lamp.

From time to time, steel needles pierced the mother's fingers,

The oil lamp greets the dawn with the mother.

When I put on new clothes for the Spring Festival,

There was always the oil lamp dangling in front of me.

What burns in the oil lamp is not vegetable oil,

It was the mother's heartfelt effort;

The knot on the lamp is not a lamp flower,

That's the mother's great love and affection!

Oil lamps work with mother,

But mothers and oil lamps are not the same.

Oil lamps stay up at night and rest during the day,

Mother had to work in the fields during the day.

Who would have thought that the oil would run out of lights,

Chinese New Year's Eve night the mother suddenly left.

It was a Chinese New Year's Eve without thirty,

The exhausted mother never woke up again.

Heavy snow hangs down a huge yarn tent,

The mountains and rivers solemnly sent off my mother.

The mother who has worked hard all her life will sleep for a long time,

The food prepared is no longer enough to enjoy.

Steamed steam

Who wrapped the stuffed dumplings for me?

The mother left without taking anything with her,

Only two books and the oil lamp were taken with me.

The oil lamp was placed at the head of the mother's bed where she rested,

Under the lamp are "The Legend of Hai Ge" and "Dream of the Red Chamber".

The little oil lamp could not hold my tears,

Ten thousand books cannot contain my grief.

The mother has exhausted her heart for her children,

The oil lamp burned out the young life of the mother.

Life at home has just improved,

Why can't you wait any longer.

Why didn't you give me an explanation when you left?

Why is it in such a hurry?

From then on, I never saw my mother again.

Never see the oil lamp again.

Never again can taste the warmth you bring,

I will never enjoy the affection you have given me again.

Today, another Mother's Day is coming,

I want to give you a bouquet of flowers,

But I don't know where to send it.

I don't know the exact location of paradise,

Only the window looks up at the vast night sky.

My mother, where are you?

Is there a figure of you in the vast sky?

Have you finished reading the book you took?

Is there still that oil lamp around you?

Don't suffer any more in heaven,

Relax by reading a book under the lamp.

I don't know if heaven uses electricity,

Don't let the little oil lamp shine late at night.

I can't see you at the end of the world,

Only the faint cold stars in the sky are seen.

It was the faint light of an oil lamp.

Or are you looking into my kind eyes.

Cold Star has been blinking at me frequently,

You must be staring at it.

Although I can't hear what you say,

But the hearts of mother and child are always connected.

Heaven and earth are separated from the liver and intestines and are difficult to complain,

Long thoughts of pain from spring to summer and summer to winter.

Let our mother and son look at each other silently like this,

All the way to eternity, eternity...

About the author: Chang Yuguo, a retired employee of Jiyuan, Henan, occasionally raises a pen to entertain himself.