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时间都去哪儿了,它去了桂花树的新芽上;时间都去哪儿了,它去了纷纷的落叶中;时间都去哪儿了,它去了川流不息的车水马龙中。时间都去哪儿了,桂花树上已杂乱地长起了几根树枝。今年的树枝怎么看都有点奇怪,只因为今年的外公已步履蹒跚,他已经无法同以前一样,伸长手中的剪刀,将多余的枝叶剪去。在我的记忆中外公似乎一直都与那桂花树为伴。无论是清晨、正午或傍晚,记忆中的他永远都拿着一个小杯子,里面斟了些白酒,又拿着一双筷子,站在门口,愣愣地看着家门外的那一棵桂花树。
Where did the time go, it went to the sprout of the sweet-scented osmanthus tree; wherever it went, it went to the fallen leaves; wherever it went, it went to the endless stream of rushes. Wherever the time has gone, osmanthus trees have grown a few branches in disorder. This year’s branches look a little strange, just because this year’s grandfather has stumbled, he can no longer be the same as before, extend the scissors in his hands, cut off the excess branches and leaves. In my memory, my grandfather always seems to be accompanied by the osmanthus tree. Whether in the early morning, at noon, or in the evening, he always holds a small glass in his memory. He picks up some white wine and holds a pair of chopsticks. He stands in the doorway and looks at the osmanthus tree outside the house.