仰望远方纯粹的天空,我的呼吸在父亲收割的背影中起起落落。那饱经风霜的渡口,如今还飘着乡村的语言,如同燃烧的乡情,时时切割着被汗水打湿苦涩的日子。伫立于风中疲倦的守望,始终无法把一种怀念渲染成一种祝福,在原野、在山川、在河流,在滚烫的心中。 Looking up to the sheer sky of the distance, my breathing rose and drew in the shadow of my father’s harvest. That weather-beaten ferry, now also floating the language of the country, as burning nostalgia, always cutting the days sweat was wet bitter. Standing in the wind tired watch, and always can not render a miss as a blessing, in the wilderness, in the mountains, in the river, in the hot heart.