三月的雨,是我的坐骑。缠绵悱恻的雨,坐在三月里呜咽。三月里流浪的风,载不动一滴雨沉重的叹息。燕尾,那把灵巧的轻剪,剪不断雨帘,剪不断三月的帷幕。心堤上的垂柳,用它青翠的柔发,掩盖着一些残缺的记忆。坐在三月的雨滴里,无一故乡的阳光遗漏到我潮湿的 The rain in March is my mount. The lingering rain, sobbing in March. The wandering winds in March contained heavy sighs. The dovetails, the dexterous light shears, the constant rain curtains, and the curtains that continued for three months. The weeping willow on the embankment covered its incomplete memory with its verdant soft hair. In the raindrops of March, none of the homeland’s sunlight missed my wet