一条小路曲曲弯弯,曲曲弯弯伸向天边,那是母亲缝衣穿针的线。山再高,路再远,总缠绕在母亲的指尖。一条小路曲曲弯弯,曲曲弯弯伸向天边,那是父亲春耕淌出的汗。水再长,路再险,总在父亲的脊背上伸延。一条小路曲曲弯弯,那是母亲的思念和挂牵;一条小路伸向天边,那是父亲的叮咛和期 A small road bends and bends toward the horizon. It is the line where the mother sew and needle. The mountain is taller and the road is further away, always wrapped around the mother’s fingertips. A small road bends and bends toward the horizon. It is the sweat of his father’s spring cultivation. The water is longer and the road is again in danger. It is always on the father’s back. A small winding road bends, it is the mother’s thoughts and hang-up; a small road stretches to the horizon, it is the father’s ambiguity and period