Express our respect for you;
Send you a touching song,
Bring you a little sweetness.
Teacher-you have worked hard,
You took us through the storm,
It was you who fed us with the nutrition of knowledge.
But never ask for anything in return.
It was you who answered all the difficult questions for us.
You told us:
When encountering difficulties,
Don't give up easily.
Since then, in our lives,
Always full of joy.
A lot less trouble,
Added a fortitude.
Another harvest autumn,
You still have a marker in your hand.
Painted a beautiful blueprint,
Peaches and plums that nourish the motherland.
It's midnight, and you're still preparing your lessons carefully.
You are still recalling our success in your sleep.
We are flowers in full bloom in spring,
It was you who played a wonderful melody for us.
You are a diligent gardener,
We will remember your words.
Take every step of your life,
Friendly, bodybuilding, realistic and enterprising!
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A poem dedicated to the teacher-the teacher's eyes
Teachers' eyes are like the moon at night.
We are stars,
In the teacher's smile,
twinkling
A teacher's eyes are like an endless ocean.
We are small fish,
In the teacher's arms,
Swim around happily.
Teachers' eyes are like the blue sky.
We are a white cloud.
Under her gaze,
Free floating,
The teacher's eyes are like a mirror.
Can light up our hearts.
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A poem dedicated to the teacher
Teachers are like gardeners, with peaches and plums all over the world;
Teachers are like red candles, burning themselves to illuminate us;
Teachers are like bees, hardworking and brave;
Teachers are like mothers, beautiful and kind;
A teacher is like a book, giving us a lot of knowledge.
Happy Teachers' Day to my dear teacher.
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A poem dedicated to the teacher
Send you a bunch of flowers.
Express our respect for you;
Send you a touching song,
Bring you a little sweetness.
Teacher-you have worked hard,
You took us through the storm,
It was you who fed us with the nutrition of knowledge.
But never ask for anything in return.
It was you who answered all the difficult questions for us.
You told us:
When encountering difficulties,
Don't give up easily.
Since then, in our lives,
Always full of joy.
A lot less trouble,
Added a fortitude.
Another harvest autumn,
You still have a marker in your hand.
Painted a beautiful blueprint,
Peaches and plums that nourish the motherland.
It's midnight, and you're still preparing your lessons carefully.
You are still recalling our success in your sleep.
We are flowers in full bloom in spring,
It was you who played a wonderful melody for us.
You are a diligent gardener,
We will remember your words.
Take every step of your life,
Friendly, bodybuilding, realistic and enterprising!
=======================================
September-A poem dedicated to Teachers' Day
September fruity, September chrysanthemum yellow,
I still smell the fragrance of March peaches and plums,
The cool autumn in September gives us an introverted and dignified autumn;
The fruit of September gives us maturity and gives us yearning for autumn.
In this golden autumn season,
We have the happiness of finding our own way, without saying anything.
Son, I hope your eyes are shining with hope.
Not at the fork in the road of life, deeply confused,
I would like to use my soul to light a spiritual beacon for you.
Grasp the right course for you in the dark sea.
I am willing, with my silent and persistent heart,
On the three-foot platform, I will conjure up thousands of possible paths for you.
I would like to be infected with your youthful passion.
Never too old to learn, grow together, and be in the prime of life!
I know that this festival reflects the respect and hope of China people for teachers for thousands of years.
The chalk drawn by Gaga is the curve of life;
Homework, accumulated layer by layer, is an eager expectation.
I, no longer a candlelight,
Because the faint candlelight is not enough to illuminate your direction;
I won't be a silkworm,
Because it is not the dream of free souls to bind themselves in cocoons.
I am the sun, burning and generating, bringing you radiant heat;
As the leading goose, I spread my wings and soar with you in the clear sky of Wan Li.
Children, I want you to look at the wider world.
Son, I am just a ray of sunshine in September.
On your journey of growing up,
Me, us, for the future of the nation, for the hope of the nation.
We will burn brighter than during the day,
Light your warm flame!
In September, we trudged between Japan and China.
We give everything and get everything,
Children, it is your diligence and love that make our bags full.
We are full of passion, because like you,
Is the free master of life.
The sail in September will still set sail,
Children, I want you to say it out loud:
"Well, I'll come and follow you-my captain-"
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A poem dedicated to Teachers' Day
September fruity fragrance
Chrysanthemum yellow in September
In September, we remember who is still spreading hope.
We collect sunshine in September.
In September, we sang affectionately.
September is a touching season, cherished by the eyes of knowledge for a lifetime.
There are blessings flying among the autumn leaves in September.
September poets create immortal poems.
In September, we never forgot who was silently making our wedding clothes.
September makes us dare not forget.
In September, we dare not forget who taught us to think.
In September, I dare not forget who made the world have love and books.
In September, we dare not forget who built the temple of knowledge with hard work.
In September, we dare not forget who guided us in confusion.
In September, we watched the wave of wheat harvest.
In September, we were still growing up in textbooks.
In September, we will never forget the admiration we remember with emotion.
There is one thing.
There is something called sacredness.
It is the star that lights up on the horizon at dawn.
Silently according to the first come, first come.
Let's go to the countless flashes in our dreams.
There is something called eternity.
It's a stone coming back from watching the tide by the sea.
Gradually consume life in the wind and rain.
Become a totem worshipped by countless pilgrims
There is such a thing as sincerity
This is an unadorned white cloud.
Carry too much with your own fatigue.
The eager eyes of a bird who wants to fly
There is such a thing as making love, simplicity, dedication or.
You can also call it another compliment because she is so beautiful.
Yes, some people wrote a great poem by themselves.
Just like the silent ear of wheat grows and gives birth to hope after harvesting.
A poem dedicated to the teacher
Teachers are like gardeners, caring for budding flowers.
Teachers are like candles, lighting themselves and illuminating students.
Whenever I see my classmates' homework written neatly,
Her face is full of smiles.
Day after day, year after year,
The footprints of the old days have been printed on the corners of her eyes.
Every day the teacher goes to bed at the latest and gets up at the earliest!
If there were no teachers to feed us hard,
Where did you get generations of talents? ……
Ah, teacher, you are so great!
Whenever I make a mistake,
What I see is really your tolerant eyes!
Teacher, you have worked hard!
-
A poem praising mother.
When I was a child, I heard that the moon looks like my mother.
All the stars in the sky are her children,
Stars, like many brothers and sisters,
* * * Love each other in a big family.
When I grew up, I traveled for the first time.
In silence, mom, you will mend your sewing clothes.
Even a selfless heart like the moon,
Put all your love in my bag.
In that starry dream,
How many times have you stuffed me into a quilt that fell on one side?
Tears of my concern beat the road under my feet,
Every tear is a poem praising mother.
-
Bing Xin: A Paper Boat for Mother
I never give up a piece of paper,
Save it forever.-Save it,
Folding into a very small boat,
Throw it from the boat into the sea!
Some were blown into the window of the ship by the wind,
Some are wet by the waves and stick to the bow.
I still don't give up and fold every day.
I always hope that a place can only flow where I want it to go.
Mom, if you see a small white boat in your dream,
Don't be surprised that it dreams for no reason;
This is my beloved daughter with tears in her eyes.
Wanshui Qian Shan, please bring her love and sorrow home.
-
Shu Ting: Oh, Mom.
Your pale fingertips touch my temple.
I can't help acting like a child.
Hold on to your skirt
Ah, mom.
In order to keep your fading figure
Although the morning light has cut the dream into smoke.
I still dare not open my eyes for a long time.
I still cherish that bright red scarf.
Afraid that cleaning will make it
Lose your unique warmth
Ah, mom.
Isn't the running water of the years just as ruthless?
I'm afraid the memory will fade, too.
How dare I open its screen easily?
I cried to you for a thorn.
Now I'm wearing a Jing Guan, and I dare not.
I dare not moan.
Ah, mom.
I often look up at your photos sadly.
Even if the call can penetrate the loess
How dare I disturb your sleep?
I dare not show the sacrifice of love like this.
Although I have written many songs.
For flowers, for the sea, for the dawn.
Ah, mom.
My sweet, soft and deep memory.
Not a torrent, not a waterfall.
It's a dry well, and it can't sing under the shade of flowers and trees.
-
Tagore
If I become a golden flower, for fun,
Growing on a tall branch, swinging in the air with a smile,
Mom, will you still know me?
If you yell, "Where are you, son?"
I snickered there, but didn't say a word.
I will quietly open my petals and watch you work.
When taking a bath, my wet hair falls over my shoulders and passes through the golden flowers shaded by green trees.
When you go to the small courtyard of prayer, you will smell the flowers.
But I didn't know the smell came from me.
At lunch, I sat at the window and read Ramayana.
When the shadow of that tree falls on your hair and knees,
I want to cast my little shadow on your page,
Right where you are reading.
But can you guess that this is a small shadow of your child?
When you take the lamp to the cowshed at dusk,
I'm going to suddenly fall to the ground again,
To be your child again, please tell me a story.
"Where have you been, you bad boy?"
"I won't tell you, mom."
That's what you and I were trying to say.
-
Mother is as humble as moss,
Solemn as the morning light,
As soft as the voice of Jiangnan,
Hard as a thousand years of cold jade,
When I raised my eyes,
She is Hao Yue:
When I looked down,
She is a vast land.
-Love
Yilingchi
References:
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