哦,母亲,我知道,我还在您的眼睛里,您那盈满泪水的眼睛,永远是儿子泊船的港湾。可是您这个做军人的儿子,他那爱的小船,却必须远航到遥远的彼岸。那年5月,我回到阔别多年的故乡,叩响了家门。隔门听到老人鞋子在地上拖沓的沉缓的声音,半晌才是苍老的问话：“谁呀?”“我。”终于还是迟疑着。母亲,母亲,您辨不出您的儿子的声音啦?您猜不出是您放飞二十三载的鸟儿归巢么?门,吱吱地开一 Oh, mother, I know, I’m still in your eyes, your eyes full of tears, is always the harbor of his son moored. But you, the son of a soldier, his loving boat, must sail to the far shore. In May of that year, I returned to my hometown after many years and knocked on my door. Grateful to hear the old man shoes on the ground procrastination, the quiet voice, a long while is the old question: “Who?” “I” finally hesitated. Mother, mother, you can not tell the voice of your son now? You can not guess it’s your twenty-three-bird home homing door?