曾經,無聊地我徘徊於這噴泉。呆呆獨個兒,看著它,與它身旁銅鑄的鋼琴師和舞蹈員,乾枯無絃的一面。冷清的廣場上,只有風聲連連,婆娑葉語串串;劃破你的寂寥,和我的心亂。

曾經,我在那樓閣上看它。曾經親近的它變得距離很遠。有個老年人邁過,扶著手杖向它緩緩走近,慢慢坐下來那些環抱著它廣場上零落的長凳。我仿佛感到風繞著他那孤單的身子,欺負著他一個老年….

曾經,就在那樓閣裏,他就在我身伴,溫柔地告訴著我,喷泉在炎夏中也有輝煌的片段。琴音有真人演奏,男男女女揍酒圍在你身邊笑語绵绵。它意氣風發地噴泉,柔柔泉絮敢於風中灑金黃雨線。我靜靜地聽著,凝望著,眼前人的秀髮,何不是跟他形容的泉絮一樣,一样的浪漫詩篇?

曾經,他柔情的望著我,難捨的吻別我,他說他會來看我。這個承諾,教我盼望了三百六十五年,他再沒有出現,渺茫談再見…..

作者: 某某

曾经,无聊地我徘徊于这喷泉。呆呆独个儿,看着它,与它身旁铜铸的钢琴师和舞蹈员,干枯无弦的一面。冷清的广场上,只有风声连连,婆娑叶语串串;划破它的寂寥,和我的心乱。

曾经,我在那楼阁上看它。曾经亲近的它变得距离很远。有个老年人迈过,扶着手杖向它缓缓走去,慢慢坐下来那些杯抱着它的广场上零落的长凳。我仿佛感到风线着他那孤单的身子,欺负他一个老年…..

曾经,就在那楼阁里,他站在我的身伴,温柔地告诉我;噴泉在炎夏中也有辉煌片段。琴音有真人演奏,男男女女捧酒在它身边笑语绵绵。它意气风发地喷泉,柔柔泉絮敢于风中洒金黄雨线。我静静地听着,凝望着,眼前人的秀发,何曾不是跟他形容的泉絮一样,一样的充满了浪漫诗篇?

曾经,他柔情的望着我,难舍的吻别我,他说他会来看我。这个承诺,教我盼望了三百六十五年。他再没有出现,渺茫谈再见…..

作者：某某

Once,
I had been wandering around this fountain aimlessly.
Dully alone I was watching it,
with it’s companion bronze cast pianist and dancers,
their dryness and songless scene.
The cold empty square where it stood,
echoed with talk of the wind and the tree,
cut it’s lonely silence and my perturbation.

Once,
I watched this fountain from up on that building.
It was once so close and then suddenly so far in distance.
An old man struggled to pass it,
slowly sitting down on those desolate long benches around the square.
I could feel the wind was curving and clinching on his lonely body,
bullying his aged….

Once,
up on that building, he was beside me,
gently, softly, he told me, this fountain has it own summer episode.
Pianist comes to play on the square,
ladies and gentlemen hold glasses of wine, chatting, smiling partying and circling it.
It flows, shooting it’s water high and vigorous,
the soft, thin, and golden lines of dazzling shower water flies along the wind.
I listen to him quietly, gazing him standing in front of me,
his hair, was as descriptive as poetry, as the fountain he told me.

Once,
He looked at me tenderly.
He kissed me farewell, unwillingly, reluctantly,
he told me he will comes to see me, to find me.
For this promise, I have waited for three hundred and sixty five years,
he did not appear, the hopeless of our reunion endlessly.

By Mao Mao