初夏的檐雨像老人手中的念珠,不停地磨损这熟稔而沉重日子的骨节。老屋破旧,像荒草上的落日,就连它呼出的空气也散发着幽远的气息。屋檐下的牡丹,委身为泥之前,内心灌满冰凉。静极!天地之间一声轻轻叹息,如同麦子疲倦于大地。雨珠顺着永恒的方向回望天空,日子寂静无声。一声弥漫在花瓣上的呵欠,内心空旷的回声开始走动。手植牡丹的人不见了,花下呆坐的人不见了。只有我还可以,低下头深吸一口这潮湿 The eaves of early summer rain like rosary beads in the hands of the elderly, constantly wear and tear of this familiar and heavy day joints. Old house shabby, like the sunset over the weeds, even the air it exhales exudes a faint atmosphere. Under the eaves of the peonies, committed before the mud, the heart filled with cold. Static pole! Sigh between heaven and earth, as wheat tired of the earth. Raindrops looking back at the sky in the eternal direction, days silent. As soon as the yawning filled the petals, the empty echo began to move inside. People who planted peony are missing, spent sitting sat people gone. Only I can still, low head and take a sip this wet