给母亲
      
您不爱说话，总保持沉默，
闲时，倚门而望，
——像一幅简洁的木刻。
皱纹已爬满额头
白发填补着留守的日子，
心在惦念儿女在外面的奔波。
 
生活的沉重
以您的沉默为支点，旋转着，
但从没失去重心；
岁月的磨盘
以您的沉默为轴心
——碾着一支深沉的歌。
 
手中的针线不停地穿梭，
慈爱和思念织进了衣帛；
又是一个不眠的夜晚，
早霞把您疲惫的脸涂成铜色。
 
我知道啊，母亲，
离别让您度日如年，
牵挂让您的皱纹宛如沟壑！
因此，我们不得不努力拼搏，
早日归来，献给您一个团圆的快乐，
为了您不再沉默。。。。。。
 
 
To My Mother
You don't love to talk, and always are silencing,
Sometimes, you stood leaning against the door, gazing
---- your pose seems a concise wood engraving
Wrinkles have been crawling upon your forehead
Grey hair filled with the lonely days ahead,
You miss your son and daughter working in the city for bread.
 
The hardship of life,
In your silence as a fulcrum, spinning,
But never loses the center of gravity;
Years like a stonemill, grinding,
In your silence as the axis of rotation,
-- grind into a song of profundity.
 
The needle and thread in your hand are shuttling,
You weave the love and miss into the clothing;
You spent one and another sleepless night,
The morn clouds paint your tired face with bronze light.
 
I know, my dearest mother, all along,
Every parting let you feel that every day seems a year long,
The missing makes your wrinkles like gullies prolong.
Therefore, we have to work as hard as capable,
Return home and give you a happy reunion as soon as possible,
In order to let you no longer keep silence in miserable...