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我只是习惯模仿一棵树的样子,但树的沉默和它那双沉默的眼睛,是我模仿不了的。我只是习惯模仿一棵树的样子,风来,点头或是致意,每天做着最平常不过的事。梦中,一轮月亮碾过村庄,在明媚的三月挺直腰杆,努力向上。争取和那些伟大的树,站成光荣的一排,或是连成一片浓阴。炊烟或是月光,早已成为梦境可有可无的点缀。一棵树就像一棵麦子,在傍晚的地平线上留下一枚落日。我习惯于行走。大路朝天,我或左或右,在风中忍住一切多余的
I’m just used to imitating a tree, but the silence of the tree and its silent eyes can not be imitated by me. I just used to imitate the appearance of a tree, the wind, nod or pay tribute to the daily doing the most common thing. In a dream, a moon runs over the village and straightens the spine in March, trying to move upwards. Fight for those great trees, stand in a glorious row, or even into a thick shade. Smoke or moonlight, has long been a dream embellishment dispensable. A tree is like a wheat, leaving a sunset over the evening horizon. I’m used to walking. Parked up to the sky, I left or right, in the wind hold back all the extra