A silver moon drifts on the river’s flow, While distant bells echo from temples low. A lone boat cuts through misty, silent nights, Bearing wistful dreams to distant lights. Fishermen sing songs of the tide’s slow turn, As ink-washed mountains watch with calm concern. The water holds the moon in soft embrace— A timeless scene no years can e’er erase. Yet travelers sigh where reed flowers sway, Remembering friends who went far away. The river flows, unchanged by joy or strife, Carrying both so...
