静静地,月季立在那儿。飒飒秋风里,月季开放着。月季就立在那条小路旁,注视着每一个人匆匆地来,又目送他们匆匆地去。人们的欢声笑语留在了这条小路上；月季却从未留下只言片语。谁也没有去注意她。九月的秋天里,早有了一丝凉意,人们只是天天在小路上走过,只是在低头的那一瞬间发现了她——不知什么时候。她在微笑。月季从来都是笑着的。她笑得很清纯,很甜美,就像五线谱里颤动着的音符。自她立在那里的第一天起,每天清晨,人们总会看见她,却从没注意她在笑。月季笑得落下了眼泪。那是朝雾迷蒙的泪水。当一切刚刚从黎明中苏醒时,月季已经在秋风中微笑了。没有人陪伴；就是这么一个人,一个精灵般的人,她知道所有人的来来往往,却从不曾开过口。 Silently, the rose stands there. In autumn, the Chinese rose is open. The Chinese rose on the side of the road and watched everyone hurrying and watched them hurrying. People’s laughter and laughter remained in this path; the Chinese rose never left a few words. No one noticed her. In the fall of September, there was a hint of coolness. People just walked on the small road every day. They just found her in the moment of bowing. I do not know when. She is smiling. Roses are always laughing. She laughs purely and sweetly, just like the tremulous notes in the staff. From the very first day she stood there, every morning, people always saw her but never noticed that she was laughing. The roses fell with tears. It was a misty mist. When everything just emerged from the dawn, the rose had been smiling in the autumn wind. There was no one to accompany; it was such a person, an elf-like person, who knew that everyone came and went, but never ever spoke.