华灯初上的街头,我遇到了一位卖唱者,准确地说他是一位流浪歌手。他背着一把吉他,长长的头发搭在额头上,却没有凌乱的感觉。我站在那里,静静地听着从他嘴里飘出的优美的歌声。他唱的是我很喜欢的《春天里》,只是他比原唱多了几分沧桑,歌声触碰着我心里那根脆 In the early morning of the street, I met a soloist who, to be precise, a street singer. He was carrying a guitar, long hair resting on his forehead, but no messy feeling. I stood there, quietly listening to the beautiful song floating from his mouth. He sang the “springtime” that I liked very much, only how much more vicissitudes than the original song, the song touched my heart that crisp