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我又僵又冷,我是一座桥,横跨在一条深涧上,两脚扎在这一头,两手插进那一边,我牢牢固定在碎土里。我上衣的下摆左右飘动。下面深谷里盛产鳟鱼的冰冷小溪哗哗奔流,没有旅游者会误来这路途崎岖的山上,这桥在地图上都还没有标出来呢。我就这样横卧着,等待着;我必须等待。既然已经建造起来,只要不倒塌,就不可以停止桥的存在。有一天傍晚——是第一次还是第一千次,我已经记不起了——,我的思想已陷入了混乱,并总是在原地兜圈子。那是一个夏天的傍晚,小溪的奔流声变得低沉起来,这时我
I am stiff and cold, I am a bridge, across a deep stream, his legs tied to this end, his hands into the side, I am firmly fixed in the ground. My hem fluttering around. Below the deep valley full of trout cold stream rushing rushing, no tourists will be wrong to the rugged mountains on this road, the bridge is not marked on the map yet. I lay like this, waiting; I have to wait. Since it has been built, as long as it does not collapse, it can not stop the existence of the bridge. One evening in the evening - the first or the thousandth, I can not remember - my thoughts have fallen into chaos and I am always in circles. It was a summer evening, the stream’s torrent became low, then I