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