Father, the crippled and warm palms

　 When the dawn has not yet awakened the sleeping earth

　　The tired sun was still lazily and delicately hiding behind the black clouds

　　In the haze of sleep, I seem to see the familiar back again

　　That is the thick and solid backbone of my father

　　////

　　When the warm slanting sun of early spring has not yet completely dispelled the cold of late winter

　　When the years of wind, frost, rain, and snow are still wandering leisurely on the earth

　　The fence of the remaining dream of the corridor bridge seems to be faintly floating again the deep and strong back

　　Bathed in the light of the morning sun

　　Hunched over, facing the barren and barren loess, with their backs to the pale and drifting sky

　　In the hometown of the land with sweat and hard work to exert enthusiasm of life

　　////

　　The hands are as dry as withered, rough and old

　　Like a fallen leaf dried by the years, fallen and crushed into dust

　　Like a river dried up by the thirsty soil sucking hard, pale and fragile

　　Through the morning light, you can see its meridians

　　The abrupt appearance of the bones, the faint trembling pulses, the dull color of the skin

　　Rendered by the desolation and decay of the years

　　////

　　The breeze blows cold, the wind rises, and the dust flies

　　The earth, gladly accepts the baptism of the season

　　The brilliant spring light, flowers, and grasses are dancing with charm and enchantment

　　Swaying in the red dust, reckless revelry, and forgetfulness

　　My father, on the other hand, was slowly imprisoned in the relentlessly gray prison of the years

　　He suffered all the twists and turns and ups and downs of life's journey in silence.

　　With the broken palms of his hands, he shielded you from the wind and rain

　　To hold up a comfortable and comfortable sky for you

　　////

　　Drizzle moistened the eyes

　　The corners of the eyes are marked with tears

　　He is like a faithful watchman in the wheat field

　　He has a deep and eternal love for his hometown that hot land

　　Guarding one side of the land and water

　　Clutching a field hoe

　　Driving an old ox

　　Cultivating a piece of leisurely and happy land

　　Cultivating hope in the bright spring light

　　////

　　His thick shoulders carry the hardships and toil of life

　　The years are young and green, and the redness of the fallen is thankful

　　The next year is still full of fragrance branches

　　And his face has long been carved by the years

　　become old and thin

　　Father, the crippled palm of his hand

　　held up a sky of dreams for his children

　　The sky was clear and bright, with light clouds, birds, and flowers

　　My father buried his youth in the yellow earth

　　Leaving a piece of warmth to his children

　　////

　　In front of the years, the desert sand filled the waiting

　　Father's weak breath in my ears

　　Father

　　Always regard his children as the most precious treasure in the palm of his hand

　　Hold it tightly, take care of it carefully, caress it tenderly

　　With his broken and rough palms

　　To mend his children's grief, stitch by stitch

　　In the stitches of time, he strung up dense thoughts and attachments

　　Meeting him

　　is your greatest happiness in this life, and you are the deepest thought in his past life and present life

　　A father's tenderness and affection for his children is his unfailing love for them.

　　////

　　I engraved my father's tall and magnificent body on my heart

　　His strong and sturdy body, broad shoulders, kind smile

　　He stepped in the mud, crossed a thousand mountains, flowed through ten thousand waters

　　Only for his children to find a tree of flowers, to build a strong wall for his children

　　////

　　Father, gently shake off the warm sunshine on his shoulder

　　In the barren soil of the hometown

　　The time is not disturbed, he is calm and relaxed, stable as a mountain

　　He still drives an old cow, rolling the vicissitudes of the years in the land

　　////

　　The long river of life flows with the thoughtfulness and deepness of a father's love

　　Father, the hand that is broken and warm

　　A source of stability and tenderness for his children

　　The time is long, thankful to the father, remember that selfless and deep father's love

　　It is like a blood-colored warm, bright and warm

　　////

　　Father

　　Your face and face, your little bit

　　I will write it into songs, and embed it in my life

　　into the words I write, the simple strokes of my pen, the words are clear and true

　　Edit it into a story and extend it into the depths of time

　　////

　　Father's love, half withheld, half deep

　　A father's love is as plain as earth, as strong as wine

　　A father's love is as timeless as the wind and as stable as a mountain

　　Happy Father's Day, Dad!