The silver moon hangs o’er the tranquil lake, Where willow branches dance and softly sway. A lonely boat drifts by for heaven’s sake, As stars begin to fade at break of day. An old man sits upon the mossy stone, His memories like ripples gently spread. He thinks of youth and loves he once had known, While nightingales sing songs for gone days fled. The dawn arrives in hues of gold and rose, Yet still he lingers in the moon’s last gleam. For time flows on as every wise man knows, Like water in...
