The silver moon hangs o’er the tranquil lake, Where weeping willows their quiet vigil keep. A lone boat drifts, its journey yet to make, While all the world lies wrapped in peaceful sleep. Upon the shore, a scholar stands alone, His thoughts adrift like petals on the breeze. He reads the verse on ancient, weathered stone, And hears the whispers rustling through the trees. The stars above like scattered diamonds gleam, Their light reflecting on the water’s face. This night becomes a softly flo...
