The silver moon hangs o’er the tranquil lake, Where weeping willows their quiet vigil keep. A lonely boat drifts by for memory’s sake, While distant mountains slumber in sleep. A poet strolls along the misty shore, His thoughts adrift like petals on the breeze. He counts the waves that break forevermore, And writes of moments that his heart did seize. The stars above like ancient ink remain, Each telling tales of joy and of despair. The night will fade, yet they will still sustain Their silen...
