依稀想来,已有几年未踏上这一条洒满月光的小路了。小路是父亲亲手用鹅卵石铺成的,在月下泛着朦胧柔和的光。路的那头,连着河边的小屋,连着我的父亲。父亲呵,你是否依然执着地坐在岸边,哀怨地吹着笛子,等着儿子归来?父亲爱好吹笛。小的时候,父亲的笛声载满了我童年的乐趣,像那? In the past few years, I have not even set foot on this path full of moonlight. The path is paved by the father’s own hands with cobblestones and glows softly under the moon. At the end of the road, the hut near the river was connected to my father. My father, did you still sit on the shore persistently and blew a flute on the flute, waiting for his son to return? When I was young, my father’s flute filled with my childhood fun, like that?