桑科草原印象还只能用落俗的词:辽阔,但有边。星星被神镶在那里,值更。而我面前是同样辽阔的烈酒。塞满黄沙的骨笛,无法奏出箭簇如雨,战马嘶鸣,但我确定,那条叫大夏的河流,就是骨笛轻轻哭泣。水洗的青草,没过午后的烈日。一切在变,只有野玫瑰,仍是秦时的含笑,唐朝的妖冶。我什么都爱,爱羸弱的矢车菊,星光、紫气;爱草尖上晕染的奶质,泥土里惺惺相惜的草根。可我这小小的篇幅,只能让一棵青草活出春风得意的样子,让一粒砂 Sangke prairie impressions can only use offensive words: the vast, but there are edges. The stars are set in there, worth more. And before me is the same vast spirits. The bone flute stuffed with sand, unable to play an arrow cluster rain, horse neighing, but I’m sure, that piece of big summer river, is the bone flute softly crying. Washed grass, no afternoon sun. Everything is changing, only the wild rose, is still smiling when Qin, Tang flirtatious. I love everything, I love the weak cornflowers, starlight, purple; love grassy on the blooming, the grass in the earth sympathetic. But my little space, can only make a grass to live a breezy look, so that a sand