The silver moon hangs o’er the tranquil lake, Where willow branches dance and softly sway. A lonely boat drifts by for memory’s sake, As stars above their gentle light convey. An elder sits with wine cup in his hand, Recalling days when youth was at its spring. The waves still kiss the same old silver sand, But time has taken flight on silent wing. The night breeze whispers through the bamboo grove, Carrying tales of love and long-lost years. Each ripple on the water seems to prove That joy a...
