风起雨落,有人在夜将至时起身。于黄昏捡拾朝花,于莽原踏遍野草,冥冥中似有一声呐喊浸染着彷徨者,野草便更奋然地直起身来,于是鲁迅先生来了,又去了。有笔落在草间,我无力拾起又难耐沉默,却不敢打破这片世界的肃穆,只能小心而胆战地用手中可笑的笔锋在草叶上留些敬仰。一如草叶在风下微晃,直至静止,墨毫的移动渐缓,我收回笔锋,用心去感念夜空。身在黑暗,那是环境使然;脚踩光明,只能是 The wind fell, someone was about to get up in the night. Pick up the flowers at dusk, in the original step by step all the grass weeds, somewhere like a shout baptism of imitation, weeds will be more enterprising straight up, so Mr. Lu Xun came and went. There is a pen in the grass, I am unable to pick up and bear hard to resist silence, but did not dare to break the solemn world, only with care and fierce strokes in the hands of comic leaves left some admiration. As the grass leaves in the wind slightly shaking, until the rest, the slightest move slowly, I recovered the brush front, intentions to the night sky. In the dark, it is the environment; foot light, can only be