有一个悲壮的场景,不时地在我脑海里浮现——1948年的冬季,几声隆隆的炮声,打破了南京寂静的黎明。城北临江兀立的燕子矶,静静潜伏在一片晨雾之中,宛若振翅欲飞的矫燕。透过浅红色的曙光,不时映照出一个清瘦而挺拔的身躯,站立在燕子矶头。在他的脚下,不知疲倦的长江水,在晨曦的映衬下,竞相流向东方。即使隆冬也不肯宁静,微风拂过,波光熠熠。江水不绝于耳的击罄之声,仿佛在告诉黎明醒来的世人,一个壮丽人生告别的来临。他是一名 There was a tragic scene that came to my mind from time to time. - In the winter of 1948, a few rumbling gunshots broke the silence of Nanjing. Wuyi River in the north of the town of Swallow Rock, quietly lurking in a morning mist, just like the wings to fly Fei Yan. Light red dawn, from time to time reflect a thin and upright body, standing in the swallow head. Under his feet, the tireless Yangtze River flows competing toward the East against the backdrop of the dawn. Even winter is unwilling to tranquility, the breeze brushed, shiny waves. The endless stream of beating the river, as if telling the world wake up dawn, a magnificent life farewell advent. He is a