雨滴落在空漠的时间之弦上,激起久远之音,层层剥落了心间的锈迹。恍然间,我感到生命里有一种难以泯灭的怅惘,一种羞惭,它们像雨滴,会滴向另一个秋天同样孤寂的窗外。我感到死亡是一片辽阔的土地,没有人能够洞悉。当一位老师行将辞世时,我曾这样对他说。这固然是无以为助的安慰,却难道不是真实吗? Rain drops on the chill of the time, provoke long-lasting sound, layers of peeling off the heart of rust. Suddenly, I feel that there is a hard life in the loss of regret, a shame, they are like raindrops, will fall to another equally lonely autumn window. I feel death is a vast land, no one can understand. When a teacher is about to die, I told him so. Is this not helpless comfort, but is it not true?