温哥华一老外昨天给我发来一首自创诗
与大家分享Words spoken in yester's morning sun stood still,
Before the early morning breeze,
That wake the bees
In this flowered garden of reds,
Whites, shimmering greens and purples.
Whispered wordsmirrored
Another timeless place in space
And did not echo off tall glass planes
And walls of bricks, and stones,
And mortar, and blue skies
Filled with white sails of clouds.
T'was the wise word 'Wind' .
That set about to sway,
The colors along the benches,
Where he and you,
And I and we,
Spoke those gentle words
Across the ages.
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