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 carried by the current beyond space and time.

Now travelers pause to hear the river’s song,

A melody that has lasted long.

It tells of love and loss, of joy and pain,

Like falling drops of summer rain.

So flows the stream through ages yet untold,

Its stories in the water manifold.

Just listen close when moonlight gleams anew—

The river shares its tale with you.