印象中是一个无风的冬天,低矮的天空浮动着铅青色的冻云。我换上簇新的军装,就要告别故乡,远走天涯。我尽量拿出“男儿提剑出燕京”时的那种豪气干云,凛然无畏,不愿凄凉的泪水冲淡悲壮的行色。因为我要去的,是传说中月球般遥远的西藏,人们都在仰望的地方。满载新兵的客车喘息着爬过一道陡坡,公路上一道醒目的标语扑面而来:“驶出射洪地界,祝您一路平安!”那一 The impression is a windless winter, low sky floating blue cloud of frozen clouds. I put on a new uniform, it is necessary to bid farewell to my hometown, away from the horizon. I try my best to come up with “heroic sword out of Yanjing” when the kind of heroic cloud, awe-inspiring, unwilling desolate tears diluted tragic color. Because I am going to go is the legendary moon far away in Tibet, where people are looking up. Bus full of recruits wheezy crawling across a steep slope, a striking slogan on the road blowing: “out of Hong Hong territory, I wish you all the way safe!”