South of the river bend, next to the newly planted wheat field.
At the end of the road is our village. "
On the bank of the Yellow River is Xie Zhuang.
Mother's surname is Xie.
If vanilla and beauty are called
She came up the slope.
River enlargement
The slope is constantly being crushed by the soil.
Rush to the opposite beach.
Mother said, "Our land is losing a little bit."
So there was fighting and migration.
There was a robbery when the wind was dark on the moon.
Ghost swimming
There are countless ghosts' extravagant hopes
Those beautiful young girls
Their loved ones are all dead.
"The cold wind blows on the Yellow River.
Scrape their young bones every year. "
Although the river is yellow, the stone beach is rough.
My mother turned out to be touching.
Her face is like apricots.
Blood is like peach blossom.
When she walked across the slope.
She is the loveliest thing on the Yellow River.
When she was barefoot by the river.
An ancient chill stung the small fire on the shore.
To their hearts a burst of chagrin.
My forty years old came before my mother.
Like birds flying away one by one.
The time I turned a blind eye to that year
My natural sadness is locked in the bone marrow.
Not known to the young people around you.
Without being noticed by the person sleeping next to me.
My forty years old came before my mother.
"What kind of person is our future?
What kind of man will we wait until the end of the day?
What kind of man do we get?
Sad as a loss?
What kind of people are with us?
Sleep and death are companions? "
My mother came from the slope.
I haven't learned it yet with a schoolbag under my arm.
Love suitable for her life, but
I already know the disadvantages of being a woman.
And those shameful things in love
She has no silk and is dressed in linen.
Who has seen her?
Who will forget everything about themselves?
Make distant things sad.
Make beauty unrepeatable.
You became immortal.
The pen of time is sliding fast.
Generated words are like a rapidly falling river beach.
Eggs tilted like paper money.
Regardless of the suffering of the dead in the new grave.
Flow east, flow south
Hit the other side again
Regardless of the death of people on both sides of the strait.