Mrs. Smith patted his head: "What are you looking at? Finish learning this ancient poem first. Come on, recite it by yourself."
Thomas nodded, speaking with a childish voice: "When farmers weeder at noon, the sweat drips down to the soil. Who knows how the food on the plate, every grain is from hard work."
Mrs. Smith put on a serious face: "Do you know the meaning of this poem?"
"Yes." Thomas nodded, "Mom taught me last time not to waste the food that the farmers worked so hard to grow."
"As long as you know." After teaching the poem, Thomas cautiously asked, "Grandma, can I go to Mom now?"
"Go ahead." Mrs. Smith waved her large hand, and Thomas immediately bounced up from the sofa and ran to Emma's side: "Mom, Uncle Thomson."
"Why did you get up so early today?" Emma stroked her son's head, seeing his lively appearance, she was relieved.
As long as he's well, she's at ease.
