吹小号的天鹅

｜The Trumpet of the Swan原著作者｜E B White Mist rises over the lake Reeds sway softly in the wind The swan father draws his wings close And guards the nest Shells crack open One by one the cygnets crawl out The last one lifts his head Opens his beak But no sound comes His brothers and sisters cry and splash Water sprays onto his face He can only nod Then shake his head And draw circles on the water with his wing tip At night He presses his beak to his chest And listens to his own heartbeat The swan father stands in the shallow water Looks at him For a long time Then turns away The swan father spreads his long wings And flies toward the distant human town In the music shop window A row of trumpets shines under the lights He cuts through the night wind Grabs a trumpet in his beak And flies away At dawn He returns to the lake And gently places the trumpet on the grass Louis lowers his head to the metal In the reflection A silent little face appears He puts his beak into the bell Only a broken breath comes out Again and again he breathes in And blows Fine ripples spread across the water The sunset touches the waterline The first clear notes Fall into the distant reeds He holds the trumpet to his chest Stands up straight And lets the wind pass through his feathers A boy rows closer in a small boat A little backpack hangs at the bow The boy places a writing board and a pencil on the shore Then steps back And sits to watch him Louis presses the pencil down with his wing tip And slowly writes My name is Louis He pauses Then writes I cannot call I can play the trumpet On the spring shore The white swan Serena Preens her feathers among the flowers Louis parts the water and moves closer Lifts the bell Toward the sky And plays a gentle melody Serena stops Turns her head to listen The music makes her feathers look even whiter She opens her beak Lets out a soft call And waits for his reply Louis can only Play a brighter phrase Then slowly lower the bell Serena turns and swims away Only a long thin wake remains on the water Louis looks down at the trumpet Then looks toward the distant Town lights At night He presses the writing board to his chest Writes I am sorry Writes I will buy it At dawn He carries the trumpet Takes flight Over roads and rooftops Toward the human world Camp flags rustle in the wind Children sit around a campfire In a wide circle Louis steps onto the wooden stage Plays toward the firelight Notes jump One by one into the night The crowd grows still Only the crackle of wood remains Then Applause falls like rain A hat is placed before the stage Coins drop in Clinking one by one He pours the coins onto the table Uses his beak to line them up Forming A neat straight row By day He practices by the lake The trumpet grows brighter And his back Stands straighter too At last He flies back to the town Pushes open the music shop door The bell rings softly He slides the money across the counter Raises the writing board And writes I want to buy this trumpet The shopkeeper looks at the words Then at the swan Sets down the receipt And solemnly pushes the trumpet back At dawn He returns to the lake The receipt tucked beneath his wing He plays a gentle and steady melody Serena swims toward him The lake grows quiet Only the music remains Louis stands on the shore The trumpet against his chest The writing board Is not lifted again前往小宇宙评论区与主播互动