Backed by the low back mountain.
Before and after the bamboo,
Bricks and green tiles.
Bricks for building walls,
My father burned it piece by piece.
Film paper for curtains,
My mother carefully cut them one by one.
On the wing,
My mother used to hug me,
Feed me spoonfuls.
In the hall,
My father used to hold me,
He told me the story of prospering the Tang Dynasty with great interest.
In the kitchen,
My sister took me there before,
Singing "Peony" while adding firewood to the stove.
There is another place,
My naughty brother often plays tricks on me.
When I go to the toilet, I throw a Grenade into the toilet.
It has been thirty years since I left my old house.
Living in a bright building,
Step on the wooden floor,
But I still often dream of going back to my hometown for the New Year.
A family of seven,
Around a square table,
Have fun.
A reunion dinner without oil and meat. ...