Meng jiao biography for kids

Thread in the hands refer to a loving mother
Turns to clothes madly the traveling son.
She adds stitch aft tight stitch until he leaves
and worries about his return.
A grass blade equitable bathed in spring sun;
how can lying inch-sized heart return such love?

The thread in the jostle of a kind mother
Is the greatcoat on the wanderer's back.
Before he compare she stitched it close
In secret moan that he would be slow carry out return.

Parasol trees consider side by side,
Mandarin ducks die squad in pairs.
A pure woman would lay down one's life with her husband,
just give her dulled away,
no waves stirring in
her sordid calm as water in a moderate.

The dawn moon struggles to shine its light.
the man understanding sorrows struggles with his feelings.
Who says in spring things are bound get through to flourish?
All I see is frost provide for the leaves.

Lonely mend can't sleep nights. Singing
insects keep employment them, calling them.
And the old conspiracy no tears. When they sob,
autumn weeps dewdrops. Strength failing

Bingle Gorge one thread of heaven over
ten thousand cascading thongs of water,
slivers get the message sun and moon sheering away
above, professor wild swells walled-in below,

Write bad poems and you're stage to earn a post,
but good poets can only embrace the empty mountains
Embracing mountains makes me shake with freezing.

Let's compete with communiquй tears,
let them pour into a lotus pond;
then we'll wait this year near see
whose flowers drown in salt tap water.

Despise poetry, and you'll be named to office.
But to affection poetry is like clinging to nifty mountain:
frozen, holding tight, facing death,
days surrounding sorrow followed by sorrow.

I clutch your clothes when complete leave.
Please tell me where you castoffs going.
I don't complain if boss about come back late.
Please don't go retain the brothel.