Full of rust.
Endless past,
Speaking of passing rain,
Chasing the rhythm of the wind,
The cold of the sky,
Dispersed,
In the running water at night.
In the wind,
In the dream,
Whispering softly,
This is the trace of the wind.
Half-life,
Jiazi era.
Dedication,
Stay in the past,
Peace,
Stay in my heart.
Like an old vine,
Lines blown by the wind,
This is a deep memory,
These are the words of the wind.
The harvest is heavy and calm,
It is the footprint of the years.
Mellow wine,
Washed away by years.
Who doesn't have a past?
At that time,
Have a strong body;
At that time,
You can work all night,
Or,
Use your leisure time,
Playing cards all night, noisy, and chatting happily.
Unconsciously,
Dedicated to the body for half a century,
It's getting worse.
however
Still stubbornly telling myself,
Still not old.
Cut potatoes,
Stick to the knife surface,
As thin as hair,
Soak in water,
Crispy and tender,
White and greasy.
You can still stay up late,
Drink two or two liquors,
Put the change under the lighter,
Have a cigarette every now and then,
Play small cards,
From night to midnight.
Take a child,
Keep shaking your body,
Comfort the child in your arms,
Get up in the middle of the night to touch diapers,
Pull the quilt.
You can read the newspaper again,
Take out the glasses wrapped in cloth,
On the bridge of the nose,
Write,
Talk about the past changes in the factory.
Suddenly,
Look at yourself in the mirror,
It turns out that the years have traces after all.
In sparse hair,
The white stubble is getting denser,
Keep your mind straight,
Bend slowly.
I'm getting old.
Bright wind chimes,
Dim in the dust.
however
It's already playing,
Half a century of gossip.
Indifference,
Loneliness,
Thinking about the changes in life,
In old age,
Draw a happy ending.
The sun in the west,
Red is half empty.
Caiyun,
Involved in the rainbow,
Wipe it on the sky.
What a nice evening breeze!
Let's urge the wind chimes to speak again.
I am willing to accept my humble job.