行走在唐诗的阡陌上,纵横交错的是我脑里的神经;田里是你前世撒播下的种子,抽穗的是我今世双肩上的发梢。面对月光,有浮云滑过额头;面对斜阳,有麻雀归巢心窝。在青蛙的呱叫声中,我用沉默拐过三亩春风;在鸿雁的掠(lüè)飞中,我用苍凉剪裁七亩秋雨。行走在唐诗的阡陌上,泥泞的是我千年不变的乡愁。 Walk in the Tang poetry terraced fields, criss-crossing the nerves in my brain; the field is the seed sowing your past lives, heading is my current shoulders on the shoulders. In the face of the moon, there is a cloud over the forehead; the face of the sun, there are sparrows nest nest. In the frog’s croaks, I turned the silence with three acres of spring breeze; in the swan of the geese (lüè) fly, I use the cold cut seven acres of autumn rain. Walking in the Tang poetry on the terraced rice fields, muddy is my thousand years of nostalgia.