Years like a song, singing the joys and sorrows of life, the time passing away, took away the vortex of memory deep.
In the end, what remains is the trajectory of our growth, and a prose poem full of love from my parents.
Holding this heavy prose poem, my eyes inadvertently flow out of a trace of tears.
If you ask me, "What is the world's greatest and most precious thing?" I thought, looking at this prose poem in my hand, I said: This is a prose poem. You ask: Why? I replied: Because it was written and filled with the great love my parents had for me.
Who was in the summer spent a few days with me, who weaved my childhood dreams and embellished my memory, who supported me with open the sail and silently escorted me, who built a sheltered harbor for me to park. When I was looking for a bay one day, I thought it was warm, but I slowly discovered that my parents were the sea. I was just a bay. Parents gave us life and brought us up. If parents are spring sunshine, then we are the grass in the early spring. The grass breaks through the earth under the sunlight and we grow up with the cares of our parents.
Sometimes, I will be somewhat stubborn, somewhat naughty, and will be blamed by my parents for making mistakes. But afterward, they will always hold me in their arms for the first time, comfort me and wipe away my tears of grievances. They taught us to walk, speak, read, and perceive. . . . . . They taught us to know this colorful world. At the same time, they are also fully committed to protecting us from this society. I am the pearl of their hearts. They have given me too much love in the way I grew up. So, I wrote down the love of my parents and compiled a prose poem full of my parents' love for me. I will always read and feel, such as prose poetry is silent but contains a profound connotation, intriguing, touching their love for me.
We all know that time has stolen many of our things. Actually, there are still things that it cannot steal.
So I held my poem in my arms and shouted to my parents in the distance. Thank you, mom and dad, for the love, I will remember it forever.
The love of parents is the most beautiful prose poem in the world
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