A silver moon drifts on the river’s face, While willow branches trace the water’s grace. A lonely boatman sings a wistful tune, Beneath the stars that watch the night’s lagoon. His voice carries tales of ancient days, Of lovers parted by the misty haze. The current flows, a timeless, gentle stream, Reflecting memories like a fading dream. Fishermen’s lights twinkle far away, As ripples kiss the shore in soft display. The world lies still in quiet repose, Where moonlight and the water compose....
