Beneath the silver moon, the river flows so wide, A gentle breeze whispers secrets to the tide. On distant shores, the willow branches sway, As stars above light up the night’s dark way. A lonely boat drifts slow with no one there, Its wooden oars resting without a care. The water holds reflections deep and clear, Of memories that time cannot impair. Some say a poet once stood on this bank, With thoughts too profound for words he frankly sank. He left his verses in the ripples’ rhyme, To be c...
