在鸟声啁啾的三月在四季花开的校园在一个人眺望的一座城市看窗前的树叶黄了又绿看跛脚的老人穿过寂寞的操场看风把树叶吹响又吹响我读着这些清澈澄静的文字眸子里飘满八点钟的阳光那久违的年轻的梦想如一把剪刀剪开岁月的暗伤 In the March of the Birds in March on the campus of the Four Seasons, in a city where one looks out, the leaves in front of the window look yellow and green. The lame old man goes through the lonely playground and sees the wind blowing the leaves and blew it again. With these clear and clear texts, the eight-something sun shone in the sunshine. The long-lost youthful dream was like a pair of scissors cutting the dark wounds of years.