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外链地址
http://www.eemp3.com/audiofile/5c9893c1706b47146a072d0e43e25d42.mp3
点击复制The river braids its currents
the bridge translates them clear;
you pause to watch reflections
trade centuries for here
Tourists feed the pigeons
a child chases the rain;
the air smells half of laughter
and half of old refrain
Your hand upon the iron rail
still warm from those before;
the bridge is just a metaphor
for leaving and for more
When bells begin their midday
and boats rewrite the scene—
we understand that crossing
is just a way between