周日,我和妈妈去逛街。突然,前方传来一阵悠扬的歌声:“感恩的心,感谢命运……”歌声是那么动听,那么洪亮,就像百灵鸟的鸣叫,又像小溪的水“哗啦啦”地流淌。我循声望去,只见行人们都围了上去。人群中,是一位街头歌手,他那乱糟糟的头发,好像从来没有洗过似的,一张黝黑的脸上没有一点儿光泽,身上穿着一件打满补丁的旧衣服。他坐在地上,手中抱着一架褐色的吉他弹唱着。他的目光中流露出一丝期盼,闪烁着几分羡慕,掠过无数的渴望,就像春天的阳 On Sunday, I went shopping with my mom. Suddenly, a melodious song came from the front: “Thanksgiving heart, thanks to fate ...... ” The song is so sweet, so loud, like the lark’s tweet, and like a stream of water “crashed” to Flowing. I followed the reputation, I saw the pedestrians all around. The crowd was a street singer, his messy hair never seemed to have been washed, a dark face with a little luster and a worn patch of old clothes. He sat on the floor, singing in his hand a brown guitar. His eyes showed a hint of hope, flashing a bit envious, passing countless thirst, like the spring sun