A silver ribbon winds through sleeping hills, Where cricket songs the dusky silence fills. A lone boat drifts, its lamp a flickering star, As ripples chase the moon from shore to far. An old bard sighs with winecup in his hand, Recalling springs that bloomed across the land. The current flows unchanged since ancient days, While dreams like blossom on the breeze now stray. The night breathes deep with lotus-scented air, No worldly troubles can persist out there. Just water meeting sky in endle...
