A silver ribbon through the night it flows, Past silent hills where sleeping blossom grows. A lonely fisherman’s lamp drifts with the tide, As thoughts of home and distant loves abide. The water holds the moon’s reflected grace, A timeless journey through this tranquil space. No words are spoken on the gentle breeze, Just ancient whispers stirring through the trees.

A silver ribbon through the night it flows, Past silent hills where sleeping blossom grows. A lonely fisherman’s lamp drifts with the tide, As thoughts of home and distant loves abide. The water holds the moon’s reflected grace, A timeless journey through this tranquil space. No words are spoken on the gentle breeze, Just ancient whispers stirring through the trees.