Poetry about missing children

1, Moonlit Night by Du Fu in Tang Dynasty

Original text:

In Fuzhou, far away, she is looking at the moonlight, looking at it alone from the window of her room. For our boys and girls, poor little baby, too young to know where the capital is.

Her cloudy hair is sweet with mist, and her jade-white shoulders are cold in the moonlight. When can we lie on the screen again and look at the bright light and stop crying? .

Translation:

You are the only one watching the full moon in the boudoir tonight. Pity your youngest son in other places. I don't know why you miss Chang 'an.

The fragrant mist moistens your temples, and the clear light of the bright moon makes your arms cold. When can I sit side by side under the thin curtains, and the moonlight shines on you and me to dry my tears?

2. Meng Jiao's "prodigal son" in Tang Dynasty

Original text:

The mother used the needle and thread in her hand to make clothes for her long-distance son.

Before leaving, I had a stitch for fear that my son would come back late and his clothes would be damaged.

Who can say that a filial child like the weak can repay his mother's love like the sunshine in spring?

Translation:

A loving mother makes clothes for her long-distance son with a needle and thread in her hand.

Before leaving, he sewed a needle tightly for fear that his son would come back late and his clothes would be damaged.

Who can say that a child's filial piety as weak as grass can repay the kindness of such a loving mother as Chunhui Puze?

3. Bai Juyi's mother's other son in Tang Dynasty

Original text:

It's not sad to welcome the new and abandon the old, it's sad to leave two children at home. At first, I walked with my hands. At first, I sat and cried and grabbed people's clothes.

With your new beauty, my mother and son will be separated. It is best to have a crow and a magpie in the forest, and the mother will not lose the young males and females.

Translation:

It is human nature to like the new and hate the old, and it is not enough to be sad. I will pack my bags and leave helplessly. But sadly, her husband's family still has two biological children left. One can walk by the bed and the other can sit up. The sitting child is crying, and the walking child is clutching my clothes.

You and your wife are new lovers, but you never let our mother and son meet again. At this moment, my heart is full of unspeakable sadness. People's fickle feelings are not as good as the black magpie in the forest. Mothers don't leave their chicks, and males always take care of them.

4. Jiang Shiquan returned home at the end of Qing Dynasty.

Original text:

I love my son endlessly, and I'm glad to go home. Cold clothes are needle and thread, and letters from home are ink stains.

If you encounter pity, you will ask for it. I am ashamed of the son of man and dare not complain about the dust.

Translation:

A mother's love for her children is endless. How happy my mother is to go home during the Spring Festival! She is sewing a cotton-padded coat for me. The needle and thread are tight. The letter I sent home has just arrived, and the ink is still wet.

As soon as I met my mother, she said affectionately that I had lost weight and repeatedly asked me if I was suffering outside. I bowed my head in shame and dared not tell her about my wandering.

5. Figure 1 of Xuan Mo by Wang Mian in Yuan Dynasty.

Original text:

Brilliant day lily flowers, Luosheng North Hall.

The south wind blows the heart, for whom do you vomit?

A loving mother leans against the door, but a wanderer cannot walk.

May the sun be sparse and the day be fearful.

Looking up at Yunlin, I am ashamed to listen to birds.

Translation:

Brilliant daylily was born under the North Hall.

The south wind blows the day lily, swaying for whom to confide fragrance?

A kind mother leaned against the door, expecting her child. It's hard for a wanderer to travel far away!

The support for parents is alienated every day, and the news of children is not reached every day.

Looking up at a cloud forest, I am ashamed to hear the sound of the birds, and I still miss it.