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他们正是做梦的季节,正是喜欢诗的年龄,却与梦无关,与诗无缘。听到这句话,心不禁一颤:是啊,是谁丢了美好的梦,是谁失却了浪漫的诗?唏嘘惋叹之余,觉着在这个追着赶着奔跑的社会中,做梦是奢望,读诗是愿景。从遗憾中走来,又走回遗憾去,这似乎是许多人永远摆脱不掉的魔咒。做梦,这是多好的词儿啊。里面是永远都让人浮想不尽的世界:花开之妍,鸟鸣之谐,竹影之清,溪水之冽,山石之峻,幽壑之险,美丽到不知东南西北,陶醉到不知晨昏雨雪。
They are exactly the season of dreaming. It is the age of love for poetry, but it has nothing to do with dreams. Hear these words, heart can not help but shiver: yes ah, who lost a good dream, who lost the romantic poem? Sigh sigh, feel in this chase run in society, dreaming Is a luxury, read poetry is a vision. From regret, come back regret to go, it seems that many people will never be able to cast off the curse. Dreaming, this is a good word ah. There is always a world of dreams: blossoms, the harmony of birdsong, bamboo shadow of the clear, streams of water, the rock of the mountains, the danger of the sinkhunter, the beautiful to the southeast, northwest intoxicated to I do not know twilight Rain and snow.