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远山无聊地啃破一轮夕阳。寂寞将老尼塑在庵前。归鸦,天上那一行行黑体字,像她在《涅槃经》上读厌了的句子,断断不会在她心灵的天空上显影了。晚霞是一个烧红了的记忆,她在阅读山间那条小路,温习心灵上的忧伤。这慧觉庵前,有一条神秘的山间小路,那是樵夫和猎人上山下山用他们厚实的脚板踩出来的。那是真正的生命和青春留下的一条轨迹,一句真正属于她的人生的诗。她咀嚼着这个余味无穷的句子,才强撑着度过了这一生。
Mountains bored to break a sunset. Loneliness will be the old Nepalese plastic in the ani. Crow, the sky that line of bold characters, as she read in the Nirvana, tired of reading the sentence, cut off will not develop in the sky of her mind. Sunset is a red-hot memory, she was reading that path in the mountains, to study spiritual sorrow. There is a mysterious mountain path in front of this hugh imam, where the woodcutter and the hunter climb down the mountain and step on their thick feet. That is the real life and youth left a trail, a real life belongs to her poem. She chewed this endless aftertaste, strong support for the passing of this life.