The dark curtain was slowly drawn up ,

The sun has set its last rays .

The moon pokes its head shyly ,

Dressed in gauze .

Like a girl in a boudoir ,

Curious about the world .

The cricket Symphony has begun ,

And I'm in a daze in the face of the sky .

The unknown birdsong puts on the windbreaker for the night play ,

More mysterious and dignified .

Pines and cypresses in the cemetery ,

In the background of wandering soul, it is more profound and solemn .

Factories in the distance roar ,

Breaking the bird's quiet habitat .

Leave a string of wind and sad cry .

Bright lights , According to the bent back ,

The objects in hand are passed on and on .

The figure of the child lingers in my heart ,

There was a silver thread in his black hair .

The factory machine stops ,

The night is still .

But there is a fast-moving figure .

I wish the cold wind would stop for a moment ,

Stop eroding her skin mercilessly ,

Keep the beautiful texture for her .

Only wish that time go slowly ,

Don't turn her black hair into white .

The scorching sun , Keep her cool .

I wish I could accompany her through the best time