豁 袅袅升起的欢烟, 多像舞动蓝天的银练。 炊烟下面的老妈妈, 忙碌在火灶前, 苦涩的日子从锅边溜走了 锅里盛满生活的甘甜。 炊烟是一支长笔, 书写故乡的春天。 高高升起的欢烟, 就是父亲挥舞的长鞭‘ 甩落了天上的浮云, 甩来了艳阳天, 山乡的日子在鞭声里火红了, 富裕写上张 Cigarettes curl up from the smoke, like silver dancing blue sky. Under the smoke of the old mother, busy in front of the fire, bitter days slipped away from the pan pot full of sweet life. Smoke is a long pen, writing the hometown of spring. Rising from the smoke, that is, his father waving the whip ’fell off the clouds in the sky, drowned the sunny days, the days of the mountain in the whip in the red, wealthy to write Zhang