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你用坚硬的外壳包裹着柔软的内心。在汉语词汇的汪洋大海里,你偶露峥嵘,便是一部里程碑似的诗集问世。你不琢磨世间留名,只为诗美留香。继《东北角》《青铜手》《苍茫九歌》《最后的执灯者》等几部大作之后,你怀抱一轮太阳,完成了岁月划定的一个甲子。这次读你的新著《与滴水飞翔》,你已经是六十岁的小老头了。比起卷发如飞的普希金,你是老了,洗尽铅华,宠辱不惊。但比起白发银须的泰戈尔,你那满头乌黑的诗情画
You wrapped the soft heart with a hard shell. In the vast sea of Chinese words, you are proudly presented with a landmark collection of poems. You do not ponder the world, only for the beauty of poetry. Following the “northeast corner” “bronze hand” “vast nine song” “the last lamp” and several other masterpiece, you embrace the sun, completed a designated years of Jia Zi. This time reading your new book, “Flying with Drip”, you are already a sixty year old old man. Compared to the Pushkin hair curly, you are old, wash away the top, pet shameless. But compared to white hair silver Tagore, your black poetic painting