神色凝重的大伯,运笔悬于纸上,探寻的目光在每个亲人的脸上移动,仿佛在说,写什么呢?很显然,没有一张脸上能找到答案。大伯只得将目光缓缓地投向窗外,长出一口气,握笔的手腕宛如一尾冲出水面的鱼。众人屏住呼吸,仿佛听到了一串泼剌声。笔尖在一张粗宣上漾开无数涟漪。我心里一动,暗自揣度大伯会写下怎样的诗句,一行字迹猛然出现了——阳光照小屋。 Uncle dignified looks, pen hanging on the paper, looking in the eyes of each relative’s face moved, as if to say, what to write it? Obviously, no one can find the answer to his face. Uncle had to look to the window slowly, take a breath, holding a pen like a fish out of the water surface. People hold their breath, as if heard a bunch of spit sound. Nib in a rough propaganda rippling rippling. My heart a move, secretly guess uncle what kind of poem will be written, a handwriting suddenly appeared - sunshine hut.