游子吟
孟郊

慈 母 手 中 线，

游 子 身 上 衣。

临 行 密 密 缝，

意 恐 迟 迟 归。

谁 言 寸 草 心，

报 得 三 春 晖。

A Poem By A Leaving Son

A thread is in my fond mother's hand moving.

For her son to wear the clothes ere leaving.

With her whole heart she's sewing and sewing.

For fear I'll e'er be roving and roving.

Who says the little soul of grass waving.

Could for the warmth repay the sun of spring.