How to write the message that the epidemic can't go home?

1. Mother, I often stare at the familiar old houses, lie on the hot heatable adobe sleeping platform and look for me on the yellow paper on the roof.

2. I miss my parents, a cuckoo with a drop of blood, hovering in the tree of time with a grateful heart, measuring the distance between life and death, ordinary or great, short or long, tragedy or comedy, in fact, all the same, the end of life.

I miss my parents. In the cold winter, I expect the ice and snow to be melted immediately by the warmth of spring. I hope all friends inside and outside the network can travel through time and space and share the loneliness of a son, making it a soothing happiness, so that everyone can bear this moment with more warmth and touch.

Missing parents is an unforgettable pain. It's a pair of sleepless eyes. That's countless unforgettable memories. At midnight, I looked at the heaven, shook hands with the other world with my heart, and had a cordial conversation with my parents who went to eat. This is not a dream, this is real communication.

Every festive season, a child who has lost his parents and a son who is a judge, when the Spring Festival comes, on the land where his relatives once fought, he dries his tears, leaps over fragility, puts down his pain, regains his strength, burns incense in front of his parents' graves, sets himself up as a hard monument, lets the north wind roar and burn paper, and prays for eternity with silent blessings.

I miss my parents, and my children will always be my parents' living fossils. They tried their best to hide their weak hearts, secretly made vows, completed the New Year's memorial service with successful careers and happy families, continued a hope and conveyed anxious greetings.