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伫立在天安门广场澳门回归倒计时牌前,心随着殷红的字符急切地跳动,思绪潮涌般翻腾。那“嘀嗒、嘀嗒……”的读秒声,如黄钟大吕般回响在天外,唤醒了蛰伏已久的巨龙,震撼着整个世界;这声音如秋日的甘霖,飘洒在长江长城黄山黄河上,浸润着埋有汉瓦秦砖丝帛竹简的古老土地;这声音如母亲轻轻的絮语,抚慰着一个游子的创伤。透过这声音,隐约听到一个小女孩如泣如诉、婉转忧伤的稚嫩的歌声:“你可知MAcAU不是我真姓,
Standing in front of the countdown card at the Tiananmen Square in Macao, the heart beats like an eager red with a rush of thoughts. That ”tick, tick “ countdown sound, such as Huang Zhonglulu echoed in the sky, wake up long dormant dragon, shook the whole world; this voice, such as the autumn of the rain, floating in the Great Wall of the Yangtze River Huangshan Yellow River, infiltrating the ancient land buried Han tile brick silk bamboo; this voice as the mother gently whispered, soothing a wandering trauma. Through this voice, vaguely heard a little girl crying, mildly sad song: ”You know MAcAU is not my real name,