A silver ribbon winds through sleeping hills, Where cold stars dance on liquid, whispering night. A lonely fisherman’s lamp drifts and stills, Casting brief gold that fades from mortal sight. This ancient flow has seen dynasties fall, Yet mirrors still the same unchanging moon. Who hears the water’s timeless, solemn call? Just wind-swept blossoms falling too soon.

A silver ribbon winds through sleeping hills, Where cold stars dance on liquid, whispering night. A lonely fisherman’s lamp drifts and stills, Casting brief gold that fades from mortal sight. This ancient flow has seen dynasties fall, Yet mirrors still the same unchanging moon. Who hears the water’s timeless, solemn call? Just wind-swept blossoms falling too soon.