五月,你还是一只白色蛋。搁在粗砺的北极黑石之上,那般浑圆;粗砺的极地长风,滑过雪样的壳。当六月的冰海上出现夏天第一丝裂缝,你便也裂开,突然,就抖瑟地站成了一只北极燕鸥。你的红眼睛第一眼看到的,尽是壮丽的冰海,壮丽的冻云……却不见妈妈和爸爸。妈妈和爸爸,已远去,没有给你温暖的羽翼,没有给你呢喃的絮语,留给 In May, you are still a white egg. Resting on rough Arctic black stones, rounded; rough polar winds, sliding over snow-like shells. When the first crack in summer appeared on the ice in June, you cracked open, and suddenly, suddenly, stood Arctic Tern. Your red eyes at first glance, is full of magnificent sea of ​​ice, the magnificent frozen clouds ... but do not see my mother and father. Mom and dad, have gone, did not give you a warm wings, did not give you whisper, leave