去年秋天,有朋友朦胧出一首秋叶的小诗,哈哈感动得不行。只是那会儿正奋力地向沟里吹叶子,大概十好几个立方Yard吧,边干活,边思考一个问题,为什么诗人受人尊敬,而园工就不能浪漫呢?想啊想着,春天又来了,铺完木头屑子,种完花花草草,写下一段东西,不知道能否叫诗。
《叶落无声》
叶落无声
杳起焠炫的光影拼图
灿烂地笑看风云雨雾
欢快地迎向土地苗圃
叶落无声
飘向自由的湖
跳起最后的舞
舒展每一个音符
叶落无声
停在陌生的路
摩挲风的脚步
等待身体的干枯
叶落无声
平凡的故事和着秋雨和霜露
辉煌的过去消失在记忆的深处
最后的爱滋养了春天的泥土
Fly with the music
When the Youth Orchestra plays
Liszt's Les préludes
The audience cried for the big overture -
I saw she is departing from me
With mature smiles and a good soul
There are swans
There are lakes
There are churches
There are farms
There are houses
There are kids running On the Grass
She is my daughter
Carrying my hope of life
With a good soul
With the string
In the melody of
Listz's les préludes
Wrote at CCYO concert night
4/29/2017, West Chester, PA