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1为了我和我的兄弟姐妹,妈妈,你把头发熬白了。翻开你年青时的照片,你是那么秀丽而端庄。你微笑着,多么像蒙娜丽莎;你沉思着,多么像密该朗琪罗笔下的圣母。可是,你老了,为了我和我的兄弟姐妹,你付出了诗一样的青春,画一样的美貌,只留得满头雪一样的华发。你苍老了,但你的历史的美并没有逝去,你的现实的美也没有逝去。像翻阅你往昔的照片,我常常翻阅着你永动的心灵:永存的慈祥。今天,我要高高地举
1 For me and my brothers and sisters, mother, you cast your hair white. Open your young photos, you are so beautiful and dignified. You are smiling, how like Mona Lisa; you ponder, how much like the romantic Madonna under the pen. However, you are old, for me and my brothers and sisters, you have paid a poetic youth, painting the same beauty, leaving only the snow-like Huafa. You are old, but the beauty of your history has not passed away, and the beauty of your reality has not faded away. Like reading your past photos, I often read through your perpetual heart: eternal kindness. Today, I want to lift high