The silver moon hangs o’er the tranquil bay, Whispering waves weave dreams in shades of blue. A lone heron stands where waters sway, Painting night with silence, fresh and new. Through pine-clad hills an ancient breeze does sigh, Carrying tales of dynasties long past. Beneath the star-strewn canvas of the sky, Time’s river flows—too serene to rush fast. A fisherman’s boat drifts like fallen leaf, His lantern gleams—a second moon below. In this stillness, even worldly grief Surrenders to the t...
