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啥时候是个头啊？
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穿透暗夜，轻抚我的眉尖。
它不言不语，却悄悄蔓延，
在荒芜的心田，种下春天。
希望是远方的微亮灯火，
明明灭灭，却永不沉没。
纵使风雨将前路吞没，
它仍在眼底，轻轻闪烁。
希望是未写完的诗行，
在绝望处，续写芬芳。
纵使世界褪尽了色彩，
它仍守着，最初的光亮。
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