你的青草黄了,我的枫叶红了,他的心气凉了。这是辛卯年的十月,秋天突然透出一丝丝令人费解的秋日寒凉。八月的家,在美茵河中漂流,在阿尔比斯山间攀登,在欧洲大地上行走。想起中原大地上空的飞鹰,想起诗人北岛身边的光环,想起百年庄园里的画家老汤。 Your grass yellow, my maple red, his heart cold. This is Xinmao year in October, a sudden autumn slightest puzzled autumn cold. August’s home, drifting in the River Main, climbing in the Alps, walking on the land of Europe. Think of the Eagle over the Central Plains earth, remember the aura of poets around the North Island, think of a century-old painter Lao Tang.