A still pond rests under moon’s gentle gaze, Where fireflies weave their fleeting, sparkling maze. No wind disturbs the glassy surface deep, Where lotus flowers guard their secrets sleep. An old man sits on mossy stone nearby, Watching the stars reflected on the sly. He recalls youth—how swift the years have flown, Like ripples from a single pebble thrown. The night holds stories only silence tells, As distant temple rings its evening bells. In quietude, all worldly thoughts release— The pond...
