雨夜,想起母亲雨水仿佛要把整个夜掏空。现在记忆只剩下聆听的耳朵,窗外只剩下一个声音。一盏始终拨亮的油灯,那是在墙角编织舞蹈的火苗,当张望的目光再次滑落,如今我多想抚摸到你穿针引线的干枯的手指。水面上花开花落,荡开日日年年的涟漪,白发的童谣已不在,纸剪的窗花已不在,每一寸步履蹒跚的身影都牵扯到心疼。 Rainy night, remember my mother’s rain seems to be emptied the entire night. Now with only the ears left in my memory, there is only one sound left outside the window. An always-on oil lamp, which is the flame of a weaved dance on the corner, looked over again as the gaze looked down. Now I would like to touch the dry fingers on your lead. Flowering flowers on the water, leaving the ripples every year, white hair nursery rhyme has gone, the paper cut the window is no longer every inch of hobo figure involved in distressed.