母亲的墓地 

　　“子欲养而亲不待”，这或许是人生中最不幸的事情之一。我们总觉得自己还有大把的时间，却有意无意地忘却了父母正在逐渐地老去。懊悔追不上时间的脚步，但会永久停驻在我们的脑海中。

　　请从现在起，为父母做一些力所能及的小事，不要让我们的人生留有太多的遗憾。

　　母亲去世已有十三个年头了。我回到阔别的家乡，站在了母亲的墓前。渡过令人悲伤的那段时期之后，我已经发生了巨大的变化。童稚的岁月早已消逝，随之而去的是我那活泼的性格。

　　世界也已改变，当我站在母亲墓前时，我几乎想不起从前我曾是一个无忧无虑的小女孩，而那时，母亲常常无限温柔地亲吻我的脸颊。

　　但是，这十三年的沧桑变幻依然没有从我的记忆里抹去母亲的笑容。仿佛我在昨天还见到了她，她那熟悉的声音仿佛还萦绕在我的耳畔。儿时那些欢乐的旧梦又一次回到了我的脑海里，依旧是那样的清晰。若不是我还想起了一件痛苦的往事，我流下的泪水就一定是温暖而愉悦的。

　　那件往事也许看起来是件小事，但是念及它却仍旧让我的心隐隐作痛。我之所以要说出来，是想让所有有父母疼爱的孩子学会珍视自己的父母。我的母亲去世前病了很久，我都习惯了她那苍白的脸色和微弱的嗓音，不会像一般的孩子一样被吓着。起初，我确实哭得十分伤心，但当我每天放学回家，看到母亲依然如旧，我便开始相信上天会把母亲留给我，可是他们却告诉我：母亲活不长了。

　　有一天，我在学校受了点委屈，带着沮丧而烦躁的心情回到了家，走进母亲的卧室。她的脸色比平常更加苍白，但还是以她那充满深情的笑容迎接我的回家。哎！当我回顾这逝去的十三个年头时，我想我的心若是还没有被融化的话就定然是颗石头心了。母亲要我下楼端一杯水给她。我怒气冲冲地问她为什么不叫佣人端呢。母亲脸上露出了略含责备的神情，对我说：“难道我的女儿就不能为她可怜的、生病的母亲端杯水吗？”她说话时的神情，我即使活到一百岁也不会忘记。

　　我去给她端了一杯水，然而却极不乐意。我没有像往常一样冲她微笑，并且吻她，而是绷着脸，把杯子很快放下，然后就离开了她的卧室。玩了一会儿后，我就回我自己的房间睡觉了，也没有跟母亲道晚安；但当我独自一人待在黑暗和寂静中时，我想起了母亲的脸是多么的惨白，她对我说那句“难道我的女儿就不能为她可怜的、生病的母亲端杯水吗？”时，声音是多么的颤抖。我怎么也睡不着，我溜进了她的卧室，想求得她的原谅。母亲已经沉沉睡去，而他们叫我不要吵醒她。

　　我没有告诉任何人我的心事，而是溜回了床上。我决心明天一大早就起床告诉母亲我多么懊悔。当我睁开眼时，外面已是阳光灿烂。我赶紧披上衣服，急急跑到母亲房里。她死了！她再也不能说话，再也不能对我微笑。当我触摸到她那常亲抚我的头的手时，发现它冰得我都吓了一跳。

　　我跪在她身边，哭得悲恸欲绝。那时我真希望我也死去，和母亲同葬在一起。如果我可以交换的话——如今已长大的我情愿用世间的一切来交换母亲亲口说出的原谅。但我却永远唤不回我的母亲了。当我站在她的墓前，一想到她对我的无限疼爱，她那微含责备的表情就像毒蛇一样咬噬着我的心。

　　My Mother's Grave

　　It was thirteen years since my mother's death, when, after a long absence from my native village, I stood beside 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 did 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 said, "Will not my daughter bring a glass of water for her poor, sick mother?"

　　I went and brought her the water, but I did 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 bidding 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 said, "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 did 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 side, 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。