【诗歌】我最喜欢的季节诗歌：春天的脚步

春天的脚步，一小步一小步

我听见春天的脚步来了：嗒、嗒、嗒，像一双小手，在敲大地家的门。

我跑出家门去接春天，布鞋上还带着冬天剩下的雪印子。

最先看见的是河边的柳树——细枝上缀满了米粒大的柳芽，绿绿的、嫩嫩的，像谁连夜点起了一树小绿灯。

我踮起脚问柳芽：昨晚，春天来过吗？柳芽睁开眼，不回答，只散发一股清香。

抬头看，一群燕子斜斜地剪过天空，尾巴像小剪刀，把云朵剪成了一条一条。

燕子边飞边叫，啾啾啾，告诉我：我们从南方飞回来，春天就在我们窝的那一头。

我伸手去接燕子的影子，没接住，倒接住了一缕软得像棉花的风。

这时候，春雨来了，沙沙沙，像牛毛，像花针，密密地织在我眼前。

春雨落在柳芽上，柳芽更绿了；落在泥土上，泥土散发出香香的气味。

春雨落进池塘，池塘笑了，笑出一个一个圆的酒窝，一圈一圈荡开。

我伸出舌头尝春雨，没什么味道，却让地里的麦苗想往上长。

种地的爷爷推开门笑：好春雨，好春雨，每一滴都是秋天丰收的籽。

我沿着村路跑了一圈，两边的草都探出头来，在我脚边揉眼睛。

山坡上的桃树也不肯落后，一夜之间挂满了粉红花骨朵，像要去赶集。

沟里的青蛙呱呱呱，替春天敲起了鼓。

我跑回家告诉妈妈：妈妈，春天已经到了，它就站在咱们家门口！

妈妈问我怎么知道。我说：我看见了柳芽，遇见了燕子，还被春雨淋湿了头发。

妈妈递给我一件薄外套，笑着说我傻：春天呀，是穿着花衣裳来的。

从那天起，我每天都数春天的脚步：一步在柳枝上，一步在天上，一步在雨里。

春天的脚步轻轻地走，我想跟着春天走，把春天踩成一首亮亮的歌。

The Footsteps of Spring Come Little by Little

I heard the footsteps of spring coming: tap, tap, tap, like a pair of little hands knocking on the door of the earth.

I ran out of the house to meet spring, my cloth shoes still carrying the last marks of winter snow.

The first thing I saw was the willow by the river: its thin branches were dotted with rice-grain-sized buds, green and soft, as if someone had lit a tree full of little green lamps through the night.

I walked on tiptoe and asked a willow bud: did spring visit last night? The bud opened its eyes without answering, only giving off a fresh smell.

Looking up, a flock of swallows cut across the sky, their tails like little scissors, trimming the clouds into thin ribbons.

The swallows chirped as they flew, chirp-chirp-chirp, telling me: we flew back from the south, and spring is right at the end of our nests.

I reached out to catch the shadow of a swallow tail, but missed, and caught a wisp of wind as soft as cotton instead.

Just then the spring rain came, pitter-patter, thin as hair, fine as needles, weaving thick right before my eyes.

The rain fell on the willow buds and made them greener; it fell on the soil, and the soil gave off the smell of mud.

The rain fell into the pond, and the pond smiled, dimpling in round circles that spread ring after ring.

I stuck out my tongue to taste the spring rain: no taste at all, yet it made the wheat seedlings in the field want to grow taller.

The old farmer pushed open his door and laughed: good spring rain, good spring rain, every drop is a seed of the autumn harvest.

I ran a lap along the village path, and the grass on both sides poked out its head, rubbing its eyes beside my feet.

The peach trees on the hill would not be left out either, hanging full of pink buds overnight, as if hurrying to a fair.

The frogs in the ditch went croak-croak-croak, beating the drum for spring.

I ran home to tell my mother: mother, spring has already arrived, it is standing right outside our door!

She asked how I knew. I said: I saw the willow buds, I met the swallows, and the spring rain wet my hair.

She handed me a light jacket and laughed at me for being silly: spring, you see, came wearing a dress of flowers.

From that day on I counted the footsteps of spring every day: one step on the willow branch, one step in the sky, one step in the rain.

The footsteps of spring walk softly, and I want to walk along with spring, treading spring into a bright, bright song.

春天穿着新鞋来了

春天穿上一双绿色的新鞋，一大早就出门了，鞋尖指到哪里，风就开始变软。

她先跑到河边，踮着脚踩过还冻着的河面，冰咯吱一笑，裂开变成水跑了。

她从兜里抓出一把绿铃铛，一个一个挂在柳枝上，那些铃铛就是柳芽。

柳芽响了一整夜，把河水吵绿了，把枝条吵软了，把乌鸦都吵上了树梢。

春天又从袖子里掏出一把小剪刀，对着云朵咔嚓咔嚓，剪出一群燕子。

燕子衔着她的口信往北飞，一路啾啾地喊：春天出发了，春天已经过江了。

燕子在我家屋檐下垒窝，春天踮脚去看，脸贴在窗玻璃上，贴出一团白雾。

春天看见农民翻地，忽然想自己的家，眼泪沙沙地落下来，落了一地。

那些眼泪就是春雨，细得像牛毛，亮得像花针，把田野织成一块发光的布。

麦苗仰起头喝水，喝一口长一截，都想长得比春天还高。

老农不躲雨，摸着胡子笑：这雨是春天留给秋天粮仓的礼物。

春天的鞋走旧了，青草越长越高，把她的脚印一个一个盖住了。

可我认得她：在柳芽上，在燕尾上，在春雨落进池塘砸出的酒窝里。

我站在田埂上冲春天喊：等等我，带我走一段吧。

春天回头笑，笑开的桃花杏花一路红到了山坡上。

她说：别急，一步一步走，每一步我都给你留一片绿。

我学着春天的样子走路，轻轻的，轻轻的，怕吵醒土里那些还没睡醒的种子。

布鞋踩过的地方，冒出一朵一朵小野花，白的黄的，像春天随手撒的糖。

种子在梦里翻了个身，把我的脚步声，当成了又一场春雨。

春天在前面走，绿鞋嗒嗒嗒，整片大地都跟着她的脚步变绿了；我在后面数她的脚步：一步一个柳芽，一步一只燕子，一步一口甜的春雨。

Spring Has Come Wearing New Shoes

Spring put on a pair of new green shoes and set out early in the morning, and wherever her shoe tips pointed, the wind began to turn soft.

She ran to the river first, walking on tiptoe across the still frozen surface, and the ice giggled, cracked, turned into water and ran away.

She grabbed a handful of green bells from her pocket and hung them one by one on the willow branches, and those bells were the willow buds.

The willow buds rang the whole night, ringing the river water green, ringing the branches soft, and even ringing the crows up onto the treetops.

Then Spring took a small pair of scissors from her sleeve and snip-snip against the clouds, cutting out a flock of swallows.

The swallows carried her message flying north, chirping all the way: Spring has set out, Spring has already crossed the river.

The swallows built a nest under the eaves of my house, and Spring stood on tiptoe to look, pressing her face on the window glass until it fogged white.

When Spring saw the farmers turning the soil, she suddenly missed her own home, and her tears fell pitter-patter onto the ground.

Those tears are the spring rain, thin as hair, bright as flower needles, weaving the fields into a shining piece of cloth.

The wheat seedlings lifted their heads to drink, one sip and one inch taller, each wanting to grow taller than Spring herself.

The old farmer did not dodge the rain; he stroked his beard and laughed: this rain is the gift Spring left for the granary of autumn.

The shoes of Spring wore old, and the green grass grew higher and higher, covering her footprints one by one.

But I know her: on the willow buds, on the swallow tails, in the dimples the spring rain stamps into the pond.

I stood on the field ridge and shouted at Spring: wait for me, let me walk a stretch with you.

Spring turned back and smiled, and the peach and apricot blossoms opened by her smile blushed all the way up the hill.

She said: do not rush, walk step by step, and I will leave you a patch of green at every step.

I learned to walk the way Spring walks, softly, softly, afraid of waking the seeds still asleep under the soil.

Wherever my cloth shoes stepped, little wild flowers popped up, white and yellow, like candy Spring scattered as she passed.

The seeds turned over in their dreams and took the sound of my footsteps for another fall of spring rain.

Spring walks ahead, her green shoes going tap-tap-tap, and the whole earth turns green following her steps; behind her I count her footsteps: one step one willow bud, one step one swallow, one step one taste of sweet spring rain.