مولّد عام

قصيدة #10130

Veils of the Ancient Peak

The mountain wears a veil of white and gray,
Where peaks arise and softly melt away.
No mortal hand could paint this shifting grace,
Where ancient cliffs and quiet clouds embrace.

A breath of wind, the phantom forests fade,
In silver light and deep, mysterious shade.
We walk the path where earth and heaven meet,
With ocean-mists swirling at our feet.
الموجّه: 庐山 云雾