Beneath the silver moon, the river flows so deep, Where willow branches sway and nightingales sleep. A lonely boatman sings a song of ancient years, Echoing through the mist that hides the harbor’s piers. His melody recalls a love long washed away, Like cherry blossoms fallen at the break of day. Yet in the current’s whisper, secrets softly keep— The river runs to oceans where forgotten dreams sleep.
