In the field of memory, the stacks of wheat were piled high,
Now I can only find their shadows in my dreams.
Those golden days, gone with the wind,
All that was left was an empty land and a faint sadness in my heart.
Wheat stacks, once the castle of childhood, the paradise of summer,
We shuttle through it, hide and seek, carefree.
Those laughter can only echo in my ears now,
And the wheat stack has become a cloud of the past and disappeared in the long river of time.
They bear witness to the hard work of their fathers, the years of farming,
Every bundle of wheat carries sweat and hope.
Today, the roar of machines has replaced manual labor,
The stacks of wheat, along with those simple and pure pleasures, went away.
The wheat stack disappeared not only in shape, but also as a symbol of an era.
Those warm stories, those simple emotions,
In the wave of modernization, it is gradually blurring and drifting away.
What we miss is not only the wheat stacks, but also those lost times.
Standing on this once golden field, I close my eyes,
Feel the vanished stacks of wheat, their temperature, their scent.
Although there is no longer the outline of the entity, but their spirit,
Forever in the heart, become an immortal memory.
The disappearing wheat stacks are the footnotes of the years and the marks of change.
They tell us to cherish the present and remember the past.
In the days to come, let's take this nostalgia with us,
Keep moving forward and create new stories, new hopes.
