The silver moon hangs o’er the tranquil bay, Where whispering waves in gentle rhythms play. A lonely sail drifts toward the horizon’s gleam, As water mirrors heaven’s diamond dream. On shores of time, two ancient pines still stand, Their roots deep-clutched in poetic land. They’ve watched dynasties rise and fall like tides, While holding secrets where the soul resides. A fisherman sings songs of ages past, His notes on night’s black canvas softly cast. The stars lean down to catch the mournfu...
