昏黄的孤灯燃着生命的最后一滴油,在屋子的四角投下了许多阴影,糊着旧报纸的窗格外是淅淅沥沥的春雨和小村庄几声荒落的鸡鸣。母亲还在床边搓着麻绳,这是第二天要交上的货。看着母亲鬓角的白发,眉边的皱纹,我不禁有些伤感。父亲在外打工,母亲不得不扛起所有的重担,我了解。当多情的晚风摇曳婆娑的梨花淡影,当如水的月色直照残旧的井沿,当绵绵细雨打湿了矮矮的老墙,身在外地求学的我,回家的思绪便如钱塘八 A dusky solitary light burning the last drops of life casts many shades around the corner of the house, and the rustling rains of the old newspapers and the ravishing crows in the hamlets. The mother still rubbing the hemp bed, this is the next day to pay the goods. Looking at the mother’s temples white hair, brow wrinkles, I can not help but feel sad. My father is working outside, and my mother has to carry all the burden, I understand. When the passionate breeze swaying the whirling pear pearly light, when the moonlight like water straight along the old wells along the rainy wet wall when the dwarf, I was studying abroad, my thoughts home Such as Qiantang eight