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外链地址
http://www.eemp3.com/audiofile/75c290ed065c3cae3870bcec27ec1e9c.mp3
点击复制The sky is washed the furrows weave their art
The breeze composes hymns from natures heart
Rough hands hold fast to seasons fleeting gifts
Where toil transforms to joy as shadows lift
The village bells sing low at twilights edge
A timeless echo carved on times old ledge
Do you not hear The soil beats like a drum
A song of life enduring ever young
The winding path may twist and never cease
Yet every step grows closer to the peace
In nodding stalks the harvest bows its head
A quiet tribute to the lives its fed