西盟的早晨我推开窗子,一朵云飞进来——带着深谷底层的寒气,带着难以捉摸的旭日的光采。在哨兵的枪刺上,凝结着昨夜的白霜;夜闻木鼓是哪个佧瓦寨在把祖先祭奠;木鼓咚咚,叫人想起往年的征战? In the morning of the Western Union, I opened the window and a cloud flew in - with the chill of the bottom of the valley and the euphoria of the elusive sun. On the gunfire of the sentinels, there was condensation of the hoar frost last night; what was the night-time wooden drum in which the ancestors were worshiped? The wooden drums pounded the battlefield of the previous years?