年年清明,我回老家,一堆荒冢受我一炷清香。今又清明,听不到最后一位老人的问长问短,我面对第二盆烟火念叨长眠的母亲。母亲是从旧中国凄风苦雨中走过来的。一介窭人子对田地总存一份苦念,认定有了它就有了将来。当 Qingming every year, I go home, a pile of deserted graves by me a fragrance. Now again, I can not hear the last old man’s questioner, and I am confronted with the mother of the second man who has been sleeping for a long time. Mother came from the miserable rain of old China. A man and a son of the field there is always a bitter thought, with that there will be a future. when