Tonight I sleep the round She is th

Tonight I sleep the round
She is the wind of human life. "
In this life, someone did not grow up in mother's arms, was heard Matthew bid ru sweet deal, a pharmacist who would not dream of sinking into the wind, her hand fan every sultry summer afternoon. And in this life, one love by his mother, one for life because I like her, someone ready to share with her as her sweet fleshy.
For me too, she is most interested in me and who I loved and the most indebted in the world. I used to think my mother was not beautiful. Not because there is a beautiful white skin, round face recovery or sparkling eyes ... but her face just skinny, tanned, high forehead, the wrinkles of the age of 40, of how anxiety in life in the upper corner of her eye. But my father told her more beautiful than other women in the intellectual beauty. Yes, my mother was smart, agile, very resourceful. On the position of a leader, who thinks his mother is cold, harsh. there are times when I thought so. but when his mother sat, her hands caressing my hair, everyone thought it all disappear. I have the sensation lightheadedness, anxiety hard to describe, feeling like I have never received so much love. It looks like a strong dotted line passed through her hands deep my heart, eye, lips tenderly, the sweet smile, ... through all of the parents. just love it when people close to her long before you feel all right. From small to large, I received the infinite love of the mother as a gift, a natural thing.
In the eyes of a child, she was born to care for children. I never ask the question: Why do parents accept unconditional sacrifice for me? . Good mother, very good to me but sometimes I think parents are so worthy, so ... evil. How many times, she yelled at me, I cried. Cry for depression depression, where rather than weep bitterly regret. Then for a time ... I came home from school, my mother read her diary stolen. I was immediately very, immediately pulling the diary from her hand and shouted: "Why the mother too much! This is the secret of the child, the mother can not work on. Mother very ill, I do not need her anymore! "Just thought I would eat a slap hurt. But not just silence the mother, pale cheeks, healthier eyes brimming. There is something that I did not dare look into her eyes.

Kết quả (Anh) 2:

Tonight I sleep the round
She is the wind of human life. "
In this life, someone did not grow up in mother's arms, was Heard Matthew bid ru sweet deal, a pharmacist who would not dream of sinking Into the wind, the her hand fans every sultry summer afternoon. And in this life, one love by his mother, one for life vì I like the her, someone ready to share with the her as her Artist fleshy sweet.
For me too, she is interested in me and who nhất I loved and the nhất indebted in the world. I used to think my mother was not beautiful. Not vì there is a beautiful white skin, round face or sparkling eyes ... but recovery the her face just skinny, tanned, high forehead, the wrinkles of the age of 40, of how anxiety in life in the upper corner of the her eye. But My Father Told her Do more beautiful women in the other coal intellectual beauty. Yes, my mother was smart, agile, very resourceful. On the position of a leader, who thinks his mother is cold, Harsh. there are times khi I thought so. but his mother sat khi, the her hands caressing my hair, everyone thought it all disappear. I have the sensation lightheadedness, anxiety hard to describe, feeling like I have never received so much love. It looks like a strong dotted line passed through the her hands deep my heart, eye, lips tenderly, the sweet smile ... through all of the parents. People just love it close to the her khi dragon is before you feel all right. From small to large, I received the infinite love of the mother as a gift, a natural thing.
In the eyes of a child, She Was born to care for children. I never ask the question: Why so parents accept unconditional sacrifice for me? . Good mother, very good to me but sometimes I think parents are so worthy, so ... evil. How many times, She yelled at me, I cried. Cry for depression depression, where thay Weep bitterly regret. Then for a time ... I came home from school, my mother read the her diary stolen. I was ngay very, pulling the diary from her Artist ngay hand and shouted: "Why the mother too much! This is the secret of the child, the mother can not work on. Mother very ill, I do not need her Do anymore!" Just thought I would eat a slap hurt. But not just silence the mother, pale cheeks, eyes brimming Healthier. There is something That I did not dare look Into the her eyes.