父亲的墓碑走完69级台阶,父亲,你放下刚刚煮好的白米粥,放下新买的带着绿叶的杨梅,放下才盘点好的柴米油盐账本,收拾起那个公鸡打鸣的清晨,走出石头老屋,走过你熟悉的羊肠小道,拐进一扇陌生的永不透明的玻璃门。驼背的影子总是弯着,谦卑的脸上赔着笑,年轮的皱褶鸵鸟般抱头。你在阴晴不定的天光下蹒跚,你和蚂蚁一样碌碌无为,你狼狈地活着像一头疲惫的老牛,你世俗,你蝇营狗苟,却没有用一潭湖水来掩饰泥沼。 Father’s tombstone finished 69 steps, father, you just put down the white rice porridge cooked, put down the newly bought bayberry with green leaves, lay down before a good inventory of daily necessities, pick up the rooster crowned early morning, out of the stone house , Walked through the familiar trail, turn into a strange glass door never transparent. Humpback shadow always bent, humble face lose smile, the annual rings of the folds ostrich like head. You stagger in the cloudy sky, you and the ants are as mediocre as you are awkward living like a tired cow, you are secular, you flies camp dog, but did not use a lake to cover up the mud.