浓浓秋意浓

少年不识愁滋味,
爱上层楼,爱上层楼
为赋新词强说愁。
而今识尽愁滋味
却说还休 却说还休
却道天凉好个秋。
 
秋风瑟瑟,冷月凄清。。。秋天的夜,冷冽得额外宁静。。。
冷静的想一想,冷冽和宁静好象搭不上关系的。。。
^_^
不管,这样的安静,一直是我喜欢的音响飞舞的是柔和的乐声,大急诊后的这一天,给自己备了份香香的LATTE,嚼着朱坚老师给的北京特产~茯苓夹饼,挑了本喜欢的书,打算将身心放飞
然而,却怎么也轻松不来
好想在我喊着:”许老师,你的电话楼梯口那端会响起你雀跃的回应….
好想在我一个人望着满满的排骨王犯愁时你会伸出你的正义之筷
好想在每个晚上为你献上那杯稠稠的BIOYOUNG你那副不情愿的逗趣表情然后和你交换条件,我喝下的是臭臭的ORGANIC青草汁
好想念夜晚时分我们在民主斗争中胜利地宣扬你民我主的真谛,然后兴致高昂地煲着港剧
我们一直都这样,美好
原来我喜欢那种热闹欢欣的氛围,多过一个人独享的寂静
很多时候,总以为千里之外你依然存在
记忆却象蔓藤植物一样,紧紧地将我缠绕
容不下一丝谎言
那些曾经的欢声笑语,那些细碎的温柔叮咛沉沉地坠落,紧紧地压抑
害怕每一次的想念带来的震撼
懦弱地继续若无其事的每一天却强势地逼迫自己不能回忆
晚风卷着秋叶,翻然而下很是弱不禁风
生命如是
奈何?
知秋缅怀,
却总是带着淡淡的哀伤。。。

评论 (9)

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9 Responses to 浓浓秋意浓

  1. JACKAL说道:

    你才大小眼,hey,你没有看到我给你的电邮吗?不会回复的啊???

  2. pixie说道:

    你这只猪头
    我很忙很忙的…你不知道外科是忙+压力+想死的感觉的么….
    N年没有CHECK MAIL 了…
    现在去罗…这样凶….
    哼….

  3. 建傑说道:

    上網用辭典,無意間看到濟慈(John Keats)的《秋頌》(Ode to Autumn).坦白說我讀得不是很懂。不過也和你分享下。SEASON of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
    Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
    Conspiring with him how to load and bless
    With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run;
    To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees,        5
    And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
    To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
    With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
    And still more, later flowers for the bees,
    Until they think warm days will never cease;        10
    For Summer has o’erbrimm’d their clammy cells.
     

    Who hath not seen Thee oft amid thy store?
    Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
    Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
    Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;        15
    Or on a half-reap’d furrow sound asleep,
    Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
    Spares the next swath and all its twine´d flowers:
    And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
    Steady thy laden head across a brook;        20
    Or by a cider-press, with patient look,
    Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours.
     

    Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
    Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,
    While barre´d clouds bloom the soft-dying day        25
    And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
    Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
    Among the river-sallows, borne aloft
    Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
    And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;        30
    Hedge-crickets sing, and now with treble soft
    The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft;
    And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

  4. 建傑说道:

    SEASON of mists and mellow fruitfulness,    Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;    Conspiring with him how to load and bless    With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run;    To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees,            5And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;    To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells    With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,    And still more, later flowers for the bees,    Until they think warm days will never cease;            10For Summer has o’erbrimm’d their clammy cells.     Who hath not seen Thee oft amid thy store?    Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find    Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,    Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;            15Or on a half-reap’d furrow sound asleep,    Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook    Spares the next swath and all its twine´d flowers:    And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep    Steady thy laden head across a brook;            20Or by a cider-press, with patient look,    Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours.     Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?    Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,    While barre´d clouds bloom the soft-dying day            25And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;    Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn    Among the river-sallows, borne aloft    Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;    And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;            30Hedge-crickets sing, and now with treble soft    The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft;    And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

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