坟前的石头上坐着一个人,幽幽地吹着笛子,任晚风撩乱自己的头发。坟后的小路上走来一个人,佝着腰,吧嗒吧嗒地猛吸着大烟锅……石顺呆呆地坐在他爹妈坟前的石头上。“晚风吹拂笛声寒,夕阳山外山……”悠悠的笛声,很伤感,很凄婉。 A man sat on the stone in front of the grave, blowing his flute in a faint wind, and letting the breeze disturb his hair. On the path behind the grave came a man, squeezing his waist, squeaking and sucking the big smoke pan... Shi Shun sat dumbly on the stone in front of his aunt’s grave. “The evening wind blew the siren and the cold, the mountains beyond the sunset...” The whisper of the long wind was very sad and very embarrassing.