A silver ribbon winds through sleeping hills, Where cold stars dance on liquid, swirling light. A lone bird calls across the darkened void, Answering the fisherman’s lamp so bright. Pines whisper ancient tales to passing clouds, While distant temples chime with moonlit bells. The boatman sings of journeys never ended, As water holds what memory never tells. This river flows through dreams and waking hours, Connecting all who gaze upon its grace— A timeless road of mercury and shadow, Reflecti...
