Once upon a time, there was a poet named Meng Jiao in the Tang Dynasty. Once, he was about to leave town. His mother is busy sewing his clothes. Late at night, her mother still saw him sewing under the oil lamp. She thought her son didn't know when he would come back from this long trip.

Early the next morning, my mother sent Meng Jiao to the village. She looked at her son and said; Suburb, you should come back early. Meng jiao kept nodding. He saw a few more white hairs on his mother's head, and his eyes were moist. Meng Jiao didn't touch her clothes, staring at the thin and dense stitches. He thought that his mother's kindness is like the brilliance of the sun in spring, and the grass bathed in the sun can't repay the kindness of the sun anyway. Mom's cute and charming, she will always remember in her heart. She wrote this famous poem "Wandering Son" at the age of fifty.