Touch the railings of the city
Looking forward to my hometown
Aromatic soil
I thought of Qianshan's father who was outside the dirt.
My father was.
Walk like the wind
Change the posture of weeding.
Together with farm tools
Close to the soil
Zhongqing clay
Kiss us
Roll across the field in March.
at that time
I'm not very rich in poetry.
Grow in the fields
Part by part
Over my father's head
Stand like a father.
This is what my father expected of me for many years.
Been away from home for years.
A hunchbacked person.
Still fresh in my mind
With a shiny sickle
Standing in September
Standing on the golden ridge in September
bless