大哥常与露水比早。那个留五分头的少年。经常是朝阳一出来,露水就消散了。在晨间,我若背书包上学,经过海边低矮的相思林,它的枝桠常横在路边,高一点的,腿边划过叶尖,矮一点的,胳臂扫过露水。都一阵凉。若扛锄头或铲子,我是经过通往田里的芒草小径,它们垂啊垂,是身上的绿太绿,还是露水太沉了?默默的、经常也是蓦蓦,一方火红出现了,露水逃往西边。露水,珠结于天蒙蒙亮以前。我仍藏躲被窝,追赶着一个又一个的梦。 Brother often with dew than early. That five-year-old boy. Often the sunrise comes out and the dew dissipates. In the morning, if I end school bag, go through the low Acacia forest, its branches often cross the roadside, a little higher, legs across the blade tip, a little shorter, his arm swept the dew. Are cool. If I carry a hoe or a shovel, I pass the Maucao Trail leading to the fields, and they hang down, the body is too green green, or the dew is too heavy? Silent, often stupid, one flaming, dew escape To the west. Dew, bead knot in the days before dawn. I still hide hide bed, chasing one after another dream.