A silver moon drifts on the river’s breath,

While willows weep in whispers, soft as death.

A lonely boatman sings a mournful tune,

Beneath the stars that watch the world in swoon.

His oars dip slow in waters dark and deep,

Where ancient dreams and buried secrets sleep.

The current flows—a timeless, endless road—

Carrying memories of a long-lost code.

He thinks of home, a cottage by the shore,

Where firelight dances through an open door.

But fate has bound him to this liquid plain,

To chase the moon and embrace the gentle rain.

The night wears on; the eastern sky grows pale.

His song fades slow upon the morning gale.

The river flows, as it has always done—

A silent witness ‘neath the rising sun.

A silver moon drifts on the river’s breath,

While willows weep in whispers, soft as death.

A lonely boatman sings a mournful tune,

Beneath the stars that watch the world in swoon.

His oars dip slow in waters dark and deep,

Where ancient dreams and buried secrets sleep.

The current flows—a timeless, endless road—

Carrying memories of a long-lost code.

He thinks of home, a cottage by the shore,

Where firelight dances through an open door.

But fate has bound him to this liquid plain,

To chase the moon and embrace the gentle rain.

The night wears on; the eastern sky grows pale.

His song fades slow upon the morning gale.

The river flows, as it has always done—

A silent witness ‘neath the rising sun.