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　　母親的墓地 

　　“子欲養而親不待”，這或許是人生中最不幸的事情之一。我們總覺得自己還有大把的時間，卻有意無意地忘卻了父母正在逐漸地老去。懊悔追不上時間的腳步，但會永久停駐在我們的腦海中。

　　請從現在起，為父母做一些力所能及的小事，不要讓我們的人生留有太多的遺憾。

　　母親去世已有十三個年頭了。我回到闊別的家鄉，站在了母親的墓前。渡過令人悲傷的那段時期之后，我已經發生了巨大的變化。童稚的歲月早已消逝，隨之而去的是我那活潑的性格。

　　世界也已改變，當我站在母親墓前時，我幾乎想不起從前我曾是一個無憂無慮的小女孩，而那時，母親常常無限溫柔地親吻我的臉頰。

　　但是，這十三年的滄桑變幻依然沒有從我的記憶里抹去母親的笑容。仿佛我在昨天還見到了她，她那熟悉的聲音仿佛還縈繞在我的耳畔。兒時那些歡樂的舊夢又一次回到了我的腦海里，依舊是那樣的清晰。若不是我還想起了一件痛苦的往事，我流下的淚水就一定是溫暖而愉悅的。

　　那件往事也許看起來是件小事，但是念及它卻仍舊讓我的心隱隱作痛。我之所以要說出來，是想讓所有有父母疼愛的孩子學會珍視自己的父母。我的母親去世前病了很久，我都習慣了她那蒼白的臉色和微弱的嗓音，不會像一般的孩子一樣被嚇著。起初，我確實哭得十分傷心，但當我每天放學回家，看到母親依然如舊，我便開始相信上天會把母親留給我，可是他們卻告訴我：母親活不長了。

　　有一天，我在學校受了點委屈，帶著沮喪而煩躁的心情回到了家，走進母親的臥室。她的臉色比平常更加蒼白，但還是以她那充滿深情的笑容迎接我的回家。哎！當我回顧這逝去的十三個年頭時，我想我的心若是還沒有被融化的話就定然是顆石頭心了。母親要我下樓端一杯水給她。我怒氣沖沖地問她為什么不叫傭人端呢。母親臉上露出了略含責備的神情，對我說：“難道我的女兒就不能為她可憐的、生病的母親端杯水嗎？”她說話時的神情，我即使活到一百歲也不會忘記。

　　我去給她端了一杯水，然而卻極不樂意。我沒有像往常一樣沖她微笑，并且吻她，而是繃著臉，把杯子很快放下，然后就離開了她的臥室。玩了一會兒后，我就回我自己的房間睡覺了，也沒有跟母親道晚安；但當我獨自一人待在黑暗和寂靜中時，我想起了母親的臉是多么的慘白，她對我說那句“難道我的女兒就不能為她可憐的、生病的母親端杯水嗎？”時，聲音是多么的顫抖。我怎么也睡不著，我溜進了她的臥室，想求得她的原諒。母親已經沉沉睡去，而他們叫我不要吵醒她。

　　我沒有告訴任何人我的心事，而是溜回了床上。我決心明天一大早就起床告訴母親我多么懊悔。當我睜開眼時，外面已是陽光燦爛。我趕緊披上衣服，急急跑到母親房里。她死了！她再也不能說話，再也不能對我微笑。當我觸摸到她那常親撫我的頭的手時，發現它冰得我都嚇了一跳。

　　我跪在她身邊，哭得悲慟欲絕。那時我真希望我也死去，和母親同葬在一起。如果我可以交換的話——如今已長大的我情愿用世間的一切來交換母親親口說出的原諒。但我卻永遠喚不回我的母親了。當我站在她的墓前，一想到她對我的無限疼愛，她那微含責備的表情就像毒蛇一樣咬噬著我的心。

　　My Mother's Grave

　　It was thirteen years since my mother's death, when, after a long absence from my native village, I stood bese the sacred mound beneath which I had seen her buried. Since that mournful period, a great change had come over me. My childish years had passed away, and with them my youthful character. The world was altered, too; and as I stood at my mother's grave, I could hardly realize that I was the same thoughtless, happy creature, whose checks she so often kissed in an excess of tenderness。

　　But the varied events of thirteen years had not effaced the remembrance of that mother's smile. It seemed as if I had seen her but yesterday —as if the blessed sound of her well-remembered voice was in my ear. The gay dreams of my infancy and childhood were brought back so distinctly to my mind that, had it not been for one bitter recollection, the tears I shed would have been gentle and refreshing。

　　The circumstance may seem a trifling one, but the thought of it now pains my heart; and I relate it, that those children who have parents to love them may learn to value them as they ought. My mother had been ill a long time, and I had become so accustomed to her pale face and weak voice, that I was not frightened at them, as children usually are. At first, it is true, I sobbed violently; but when, day after day, I returned from school, and found her the same, I began to believe she would always be spared to me; but they told me she would die。

　　One day when I had lost my place in the class, I came home discouraged and fretful. I went to my mother's chamber. She was paler than usual, but she met me with the same affectionate smile that always welcomed my return. Alas! when I look back through the lapse of thirteen years, I think my heart must have been stone not to have been melted by it. She requested me to go downstairs and bring her a glass of water. I pettishly asked her why she d not call a domestic to do it. With a look of mild reproach, which I shall never forget if I live to be a hundred years old, she sa, "Will not my daughter bring a glass of water for her poor, sick mother?"

　　I went and brought her the water, but I d not do it kindly. Instead of smiling, and kissing her as I had been wont to do, I set the glass down very quickly, and left the room. After playing a short time, I went to bed without bding my mother good night; but when alone in my room, in darkness and silence, I remembered how pale she looked, and how her voice trembled when she sa, "Will not my daughter bring a glass of water for her poor, sick mother?" I could not sleep. I stole into her chamber to ask forgiveness. She had sunk into an easy slumber, and they told me I must not waken her。

　　I d not tell anyone what troubled me, but stole back to my bed, resolved to rise early in the morning and tell her how sorry I was for my conduct. The sun was shining brightly when I awoke, and, hurrying on my clothes, I hastened to my mother's chamber. She was dead! She never spoke more — never smiled upon me again; and when I touched the hand that used to rest upon my head in blessing, it was so cold that it made me start。

　　I bowed down by her se, and sobbed in the bitterness of my heart. I then wished that I might die, and be buried with her; and, old as I now am, I would give worlds, were they mine to give, could my mother but have lived to tell me she forgave my childish ingratitude. But I can not call her back; and when I stand by her grave, and whenever I think of her manifold kindness, the memory of that reproachful look she gave me will bite like a serpent and sting like an adder。

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