我想 找一些 英文的 轻音乐 听听 或是 好听的 英文歌曲 节奏一定要慢的！！谢谢 大家了 最好把歌名发全了

To this day I memorize my mum's letters. It entire started in December 1941. Every night she sat by the big chart in the kitchen and wrote to my brother Johnny, who had been drafted that summer. We had not listened from him since the Japanese bombarded jewelry Harbor. I didn't know why my mum kept manuscript Johnny while he not wrote behind. "Wait and see-we'll obtain a letter from him an day," she claimed. Mum said that there was a direct link from the head apt the written word that was equitable for muscular for the light God has acknowledged us. She trusted that this light would ascertain Johnny. I don't understand whether she said that to silence herself,prada handbags, father or all of us down. But I do kas long asit helped us stick attach, and one day a letter actually did arrive. Johnny was alive aboard one island in the Pacific. I had always been interested by the fact that mum signed her letters,Replica Louis Vuitton Women, "Cecilia Capuzzi",gucci handbags online, and I teased her about that. "Why don't you just write 'Mum'?" I said. I hadn't been aware that she always thought of herself as Cecilia Capuzzi. Not as Mum. I began seeing her in a fashionable light, this small slight woman, who even in high-heeled shoes was merely one and a half meters tall. She never wore make-up or jewelry except for a marrying ring of gold. Her hair was nice,Replica Louis Vuitton Women, slippery and black and always put up in a tangle in the nape. She wouldn't hear of getting a haircut or a perm. Her small silver-rimmed pince-nez merely left her snout when she went to bed. Whenever mum had finished a letter, she gave it to dad for him to post it. Then she put the water on to boil, and we sat down at the table and talked about the nice antique days when our Italian-American family had been a family of ten: mum, dad and 8 children. Five boys and three girls. It is hard to understand that they had all moved away from home to work, register in the legion, or get married. All except me. Around next spring mum had got two more sons to write to. Every evening she wrote three assorted letters which she gave to me and dad then so we could multiplication our salutations. Little by little the rumour about mum's letters spread. One day a small woman knocked at our gate. Her voice trembled as she asked: "Is it true you write letters?" "I write to my sons." "And you can read too?" murmured the woman. "Sure." The woman opened her bag and pulled out a cloud of airmail letters. "Read?? please read them aloud to me." The letters were from the woman's son who was a soldier in Europe, a red-haired boy who mum remembered having seen sitting with his brothers on the stairs in front of our house. Mum read the letters one by one and translated them from English to Italian. The woman's eyes welled up with tears. "Now I must write to him," she said. But how was she going to do it? "Make some coffee, Octavia," mum screamed to me in the alive chamber meantime she took the woman with her into the kitchen and seated her at the table. She took the fountain pen, ink and atmosphere send notepaper and began to write. When she had achieved, she read the letter audible to the woman. "How did you kas long aswas accurate what I wanted to say?" "I constantly sit and look at my boys' letters, just like you, without a clue about what to write." A few days later the woman returned with a friend, then dissimilar one and yet another one--they all had sons who fought in the warfare, and they all needed letters. Mum had become the reporter in our chapter of town. Sometimes she would write letters all day long. Mum always insisted that people signed their own letters, and the small matron with the grey cilia inquired mother to educate her how to do it. "I so much ambition to be skillful to jot my own label so that my son can look it." Then mum held the woman's hand in hers and migrated her hand over the periodical another and afresh until she was able to do it without her assist. After that day, when mum had written a letter for the woman, she signed it herself, and her face brightened up in a laugh. One day she came to us, and mum directly knew what had occurred. All hope had vanished from her eyes. They stood hand in hand because a long period without mentioning a word. Then mum said: "We better go to chapel. There are decisive things in life so excellent that we cannot understand them." When mum came back family, she couldn't get the red-haired lad out of her idea. After the war was over, mum put away the pen and paper. "Finito," she said. But she was wrong. The women who had come to her for help in writing to their sons now came to her with letters from their relatives in Italy. They also came to ask her for her help in getting American citizenship. On one occasion mum acknowledged that she had always had a secret imagine of writing a novel. "Why didn't you?" I asked. "All people in this world are here with one particular purpose," she said. "Apparently, mine namely to write letters." She tried to annotate why it preoccupied her so. "A letter unites people like nobody another. It can make them wail, it can make them laugh. There is no pet more lovely and warm than a love letter,LV Handbags, for it makes the world seem quite small, and both sender and receiver become like potentates in their own realms. My dear, a letter is life itself!" Today all mum's letters are lost. But those who got them still speak almost her and adore the memory of her letters in their hearts.

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找点冯曦妤的歌吧都挺舒缓 的，还有卡农 轻音乐本回答被提问者采纳

《此情可待》《我心永恒》史上经典 《as long as you love me》《狮子王主题曲》都很好听

凭个人喜好咯

望采纳

lenka的歌都还蛮轻松的听起来<the show>是我最近经常听的，还有一首的忘记名字了，反正她的歌都还可以。