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外链地址
http://www.eemp3.com/audiofile/99f08f34e8169a57382b6bf02c2d4c4b.mp3
点击复制Mountains fold the distance
like hands in quiet grace;
the elk become the sermons
that time cannot erase
You trace the veins of granite
the glacier’s solemn chord;
the silence builds a temple
without a single word
The air recalls first language
before the towns were born;
we stand inside its memory
unbuttoned to the morn
When dusk reclaims the peaks’light
and snow invents a psalm—
we leave our echoes sleeping
beneath the alpine calm