您,以树的姿态站立,任四季风穿过胸膛。激荡起滚烫的血。啁啾的虫鸣,撒欢的牛羊,山水田园,被您逐一拥揽、守望。我,举着一种倾诉,折叠在与您的对视中,窥知、洞悉生的意义,与爱的久远——七月的体温,高不过一场意外的雪。七月的缺口,唤不回我们对您的惦念。那一刻,晨光碎落,万物失声。您披星戴月、耕犁日子的身影,重新出尘……爸爸,我是一只站在您肩头的鹰,一直都是。无论俯瞰,抑或展翅, You stand in the shape of a tree and let the four monsoons pass through your chest. Stir from hot hot blood. Chirp of the wailing, Caravan of cattle and sheep, landscape pastoral, one by one you were swept, watch. I, holding a talk, folded in the right of your eyes, glimpse, insight into the meaning of life, and love of long - July body temperature, but an unexpected high snow. The gap in July will not call back our thoughts on you. At that moment, the morning broken, everything disappeared. You are wearing the moon, plow day figure, to dust out again ... ... Dad, I was an eagle standing on your shoulders, has always been. Whether overlooking, or wings,