A silver ribbon winds through silent hills, Where cold mist settles on the sleeping fields. A lone boat drifts with songs the fisherman trills, As stars above like distant lanterns yield. His oars stir dreams in water’s dark embrace, While memories flow with every gentle wave. The moon reflects a timeless, tranquil face— A scene the night was woven still to save. No need to ask where this quiet journey goes; The heart finds peace where the river softly flows.
