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村前,有一口水塘,塘边,有一棵垂柳。清明时节,我回到了梦魂牵绕的故乡。孩子闹着要吹柳笛,拉我到塘边柳下,我折断几枝细柳,拧成笛管,孩子得到满足,便蹦跳着玩去了。我坐在塘边柳下,看那塘水清清柳色新绿,塘北不远,伯父旧宅上是一排红砖青瓦的鸡舍。此情此景,牵动了我回忆的丝缕,就像那柳树上风儿吹动的长长枝条……在那场“史无前例”之中,这深塘边垂柳下演出了一幕幕令人可笑可悲的活剧。
In front of the village, there was a pond and a weeping willow on the edge of the pond. In the Ching Ming Festival, I went back to the hometown where Dreaming was pulling. The child was screaming to blow the whistle and pulled me to the willow under the pond. I broke a few fine willows and twisted into a flute. When the children were satisfied, they hopped and played. I sat down on the edge of the pond and looked at the fresh green water in the pond. It was not far from the north of the pond. The uncle’s old house was a row of red-brick and blue-tile chicken coops. This situation touched the silk that I recalled, just like the long branches that the willows had played against the wind... In the “unprecedented” scene, it was ridiculously sad that the scenes under the weeping willows at the edge of the deep pond would be deplorable. Live drama.