谁也无法描绘出它的面目,但世界处处都能听到它的脚步,它,就是时间。当夕阳被朦胧的地平线吞噬,它不慌不忙地走着,光明和黑暗都无法改变它前进的节奏;当鲜花在春风中绽开湿润的花瓣,它悄无声息地走着,欢笑不能挽留它的脚步:当垂危的老人用留恋的目光扫视周围的天地,它还是沉着而又默默地走着,生命之神也不能使它停步。在你不经意间,它从你的手指缝里流过去;在你稍一疏忽时,它从你的脚底滑过去;在你漠视它的那一刹那,它顿时化成轻烟,消失得无影无踪。 No one can delineate its face, but the world can hear its footsteps everywhere, and it is time. When the sunset was swallowed by the hazy horizon, it walked unhurriedly, neither light nor darkness could change its advancing rhythm; when the flowers bloomed the moist petals in the spring breeze, it silently walked, and the laughter could not retain it Footsteps: When the dying old man nostalgia eyes glanced around the world, it is still calm and quiet walk, the god of life can not make it stop. It slips through your fingers in your carelessness; it glides past your toes when you neglect it; at the moment you disregard it, it suddenly becomes a smoke, disappears without a trace .