月光如水的夜晚,倚在窗边听着南拳妈妈的那首《牡丹江》哀哀淡淡地滑过耳畔,歌词犹在耳边。“到不了的都叫做远方,回不去的名字叫家乡……”家乡,这个字眼一直触动我们心底最柔软的地方,南拳妈妈为很多人唱出了心声。一壶乡愁,令人心碎。炊烟袅袅升起,隔江千万里,一盏漂泊,我们拥着一颗中国心,踏着乡愁的行板,去聆听那催人泪下的台湾歌谣。 Moonlight is like a water night, leaning against the window listening to the Nan Quan mother’s “Mudanjiang” mournfully glided across the ear, the lyrics still in my ears. “They can’t get called far away, and the name can’t be called hometown...” In my hometown, this word has touched the softest place in our hearts. Nan Quan mother sang for many people. A pot of nostalgia is heartbreaking. As the smoke rises, thousands of miles across the river, drifting, we hold a Chinese heart, marching in the homesickness, to listen to the tearful song in Taiwan.