街角，风中，老皮匠坐成雕塑
注视人来人往
拥挤的人潮中有他的亲人吗
他不知道
匆匆的人群中有他曾经的身影吗
他不知道
纷乱的步伐中有他修过的鞋吗
他不知道
他只知道这儿是他的地儿
他或许知道这儿有他的
一针一线一锤一钉
栉风沐雨的一生
他不知道方便了多少人
养活了多少人
再好的胶水粘不住一丝的记忆
粗糙的大手缝补不了温情
多少悲喜已经化为他脸上
童真的傻笑
今天六月一号也是他的节日
他不知道世界知道
街角雨中老皮匠坐成雕塑
接受冷漠的眼光
In gusts of wind round the street corner
Sits an old cobbler like a sculpture
Eyes are fixed on passers-by
In the crowds streaming along
Could there be his beloved ones
He knows not
In the bustling crowds to and fro
Could there be the shadow of his past self
He knows not
From among the feet hurrying forward
Could he find shoes he has mended
He knows not ……
He only knows Here is where he stays for his keep
Perhaps he knows that Here is where
he lives off his needles, threads, hammers and nails
despite of wind and rain
He does not know
How many he’s helped
and provided for
Whatever adhesive
fails to cling to memories of love
Calloused hands hardly make up for the tender feelings
Joys and sorrows
build up on his face
into childlike smirks
Here comes the Children’s Day
And his Day too
Though he does not know
The whole world does
In the ceaseless rain round the street corner
Sits an old cobbler like a sculpture overcast in different glances
