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外链地址
http://www.eemp3.com/audiofile/7c3baa8816b5da279e9ab9278885cb85.mp3
点击复制At dusk the old lane turns and sighs
Smoke drifts softly where memory lies
That ancient well still mirrors the skies
A ladle of water a traveler’s eyes
The rice bows low whispering of years
Swallows trace seasons through silent tears
A lamp-lit mother sews through fears
Each thread a promise the heart reveres
The moon climbs high through a thousand miles
Yet cannot reach my childhood smiles
The osmanthus blooms with fragrant wiles
I write my longing in the wind’s own files
If someday I walk that path once more
I’ll hear the stream retell folklore
For homesickness is the soul’s old shore—
No matter how far it beats at the core
其他人正在听的歌