我很喜欢爷爷那支彤红色、古老的箫。夏日的晚上,庭院的桂花树下,一家人聚在一起乘凉。我总喜欢靠着爷爷,听他吹箫。他的手拿着箫横放在嘴唇边,那音符就跳出来了,飘出袅袅的乐声,像琵琶女的凝弦幽咽。清风习习,月光如流水一般泻在桂花树上。一片皎洁,一片空阔,近处的树木被融化 I really like Grandpa’s red, old pipa. On a summer night, under the osmanthus trees in the courtyard, the family gathered together to cool off. I always like to rely on Grandpa, listen to him bragging. His hand held the cymbal across his lips, and the note jumped out, wailing out of the music of the cymbals, as the niece’s condensed string sobbed. With breeze, the moonlight dribbles on osmanthus trees. A clean, empty space, the trees in the vicinity are melted