我站在天桥下面等车,天桥上面在施工,许多勤劳的农民工兄弟,在用他们的辛劳编织着这个城市崭新的梦。“妈妈,你看,那是一朵什么花?”我听见一个小姑娘的声音。抬头向她手指的方向,我看到从天桥上面探出一朵奇异的花,不停地蠕动着,舞蹈着,好像是风带动了它的蛰伏。几乎所有的目光聚集在那朵花上,它带给了我们一丝清新与温暖。“那哪里是花朵,孩子你看错了。”母亲的声音传来,“那是一双手,是建筑 I stood under the flyover waiting for the bus, the flyover above the construction, many hard-working migrant workers brothers, with their hard work weaving a dream city new. ”Mom, look, what kind of flower is it? “ I heard the voice of a little girl. Looked up to her finger direction, I saw a strange flower from above the flyover, kept creeping, dancing, as if the wind brought its dormant. Almost all eyes gather in that flower, it gives us a fresh and warm. ”Where is the flower, the child you are wrong. “ Mother’s voice came, ”It is a pair of hands, is the building