Hometown
One street, one old street.
A pot of wine, a pot of old wine.
A photo, an old photo.
There are many people passing by in the street,
But many of them look familiar.
Look at each of their faces,
they are all printed with sunshine, printed with smiles,
printed with the longing for tomorrow,
Printed with the joy of family reunion.
All this is like a pot of wine,
You never get tired of tasting it, and it becomes more and more fragrant with age.
It’s like recreating a photo,
It seems to be repeated every day,
But there are new insights every day.
The autumn wind blows the fallen leaves all over the ground indefinitely.
Autumn wind, please don’t let it become hasty.
I just ask it to replace the light yellow, Ancient and fragrant.
Because this is my home, my hometown.