小时候,我常常偎在爷爷怀中哼唱流行的村谣:“烂鱼干,臭虾酱,泥巴墙,矮草房,有女莫嫁海边郎……”在我出生的这个沿海小村里,乡亲们的汗珠子在盐碱地上摔成八瓣也换不来丰收的喜悦。稚嫩的歌声里,爷爷沟壑纵横刻满沧桑的脸越发黯然:“小丽,咱海沿村穷啊,没文化只能出死力,靠天吃饭,爷爷做为一村之长惭愧啊,没本事带领大伙致富。”爷爷慈爱地摸摸我的 When I was a kid, I used to snuggle in my grandfather’s arms to catch the popular rumor: “rotten fish, stinky shrimp paste, mud wall, weeds, The village, folks who sweat beads in the salt and alkali fell to eight for the joy of not harvest. Immature voice, Grandpa gully vertical and horizontal engraving of the vicissitudes of the face more sadly: ”Mary, we are poor along the village ah, no culture can only force, rely on the weather to eat, Grandpa as a village ashamed ah, No ability to lead everyone to get rich. "Grandpa touched me lovingly