A silver moon floats on the river’s breast, While willow branches dance in gentle rest. A lonely boatman sings a mournful tune, Beneath the stars that shimmer late and soon. His song tells tales of lovers long apart, Of aching dreams that linger in the heart. The water whispers secrets dark and deep, As night guards promises the day will keep. Yet dawn will come with hues of gold and rose, To soothe the sorrow that the river knows. The boat drifts on—both memory and friend— Around the bend, w...
