一片瓦,铺在掌心里,呈半月形的青灰色,边缘还残留着青苔的痕迹。天际苍茫,风云际会,当年的金戈铁马,恍惚犹在耳畔。站在这片土地上,遥想八百年前的上京会宁府,心底里感慨如潮,道不尽的历史风云,数不清的风流人物,在那漫漫尘埃之下,化作一抹烟灰,犹如一曲隐约的丝竹,轻轻推开记忆的窗棂。 A piece of tile, shop in the palm of your hand, was half-moon-shaped blue-gray, the edge still traces of moss. The vast sky, the situation will be, when the golden iron horse, trance still in my ears. Standing on this piece of land, looking back eight hundred years ago on the will of Nanjing House, my heart feeling waves, endless history, numerous romantic figures, under the dust that turned into a touch of soot, Like a looming wire, gently push the window of memory.