The old tree dragged the dawn to the window of the old house with the damaged palm.
Sunshine, moonlight and starlight.
In summer, the old tree always coughs in the fire.
Cough out a shady side, under the old house, in front of the window and in the house.
After a long time, the old tree is too old to look like.
The cracked bark is engraved with the scars of the years.
Dry branches, fiddling with the village eyelashes.
The love between the old house and the tree is getting older and older.
There is no confession, just because of the long-cherished wish of past lives and the companionship of this life.
Maybe everything will be my childhood swing.
This old tree is too old to move.
But still majestic, upright, always facing the sun.
Green dream connection
In the east and the west
Two: flowers in the wind, flowers in the wind, concise and clear.
Open and put it about, in the fields, in the mountains.
Flowers in the wind are elegant and fragrant.
The crystal dew lies on the petals, like breast-feeding milk in spring.
Flowers in the wind, confident but not unassuming.
White stamen, stuck to the heart of the flower.
Like the roots of iron, it will never fall in the wind.
Flowers in the wind always belong to the wind.
The wind blows for a while and a flower blooms.
Three: I threw a stone at the old well and threw it at the old well.
The moment the stone collided with the well water, the sound of nature lingered in my ears.
Crisp and ding-dong
People carrying water are in an endless stream.
Join together
Well water reaches thousands of households, and it is the child of the old well.
Singing and dancing in the water tank, exultation
The old well gathers the essence of the sun and the moon and absorbs the aura of heaven and earth.
The old well has become the breast of the earth, feeding the villages that are still in infancy.
The old well dried up, dried up to the depths, and shed the last tear.
Dry breasts
Will become a hard grave.
Four: mother's heart, mother's heart, pinned on a piece of cotton cloth.
A piece of cotton cloth is cut into window grilles and pasted on the window of life.
Old buckets and old mirrors
Always pestering my mother at dawn
The wind of years pushes mother to get old.
A mother's heart is a palm full of calluses.
In the candlelight, mother took out the letter at the bottom of the box.
Grandma's, dad's, mine.
Chinese characters lie in mom's mind, love love love.
Mother's heart, maybe I will never understand.
But mother and son are connected, and I will always be the most beautiful concern in my mother's heart.
Five: Before roaming the countryside, I was a handful of loess.
In this life, I have evolved into an adult.
I will always belong to my hometown. Mountains and rivers, birds and fish are all witnesses.
I came in July, when the wheat was just right and the rice was fragrant.
At that time, my dusty feet
Tread through every corner of the village
The grass is green, catching butterflies against the wind.
I belong to this village.
Chop bamboo, play flute and play piano.
I am a vagrant in the country.
Looking for roots, walking in a different place, but still can't get out of my hometown.