风雨灯结满灰尘之网,蝇蛾翻飞扑腾。远山寒樵声声,家遥路远;小村灯火闪闪,虫切蛙鸣。老屋依旧,孤灯如初,记忆却深沉井底。童谣不变,民歌照喊,故人却远走他乡。唯有那盏风雨中摇曳的灯盏,亮丽在母亲的双眸里。是谁,依然固守残碎家园,点燃一汪蓝幽幽的期盼,于凄风冷雨不顾,独自畅饮那份温馨的孤独?是谁,撕碎凝重夜色,撒满一地斑斓星光,照亮归来时路,等候疲惫的夜归人? Wind and rain covered the net of dust, fly moth flutter. Far from the mountain cold sound, far away from home; small village lights flashing, insect cut frog. Old house remains the same, isolated light as ever, the memory is deep downhole. Nursery rhyme unchanged, shouting folk songs, but the enemy is away from hometown. Only the light of the lamp swaying in the storm, bright in the mother’s eyes. Who still stick to the broken home, ignited a look of blue and blue faint hope, in desolate indifference, alone to share that warm loneliness? Who, shredding dignified night, sprinkled with a glittering stars, light Return the road, waiting tired to return to the people?