第一百七十七篇

Your smile was the flowers of your own fields, your talk was the rustle of your own mountain pines, but your heart was the woman that we all know.你的微笑是你自己田园里的花，你的谈吐是你自己山上的松林的萧萧；但是你的心呀，却是那个女人，那个我们全都认识的女人。