A silver moon drifts on the river’s face, While willow branches weave a veil of lace. A lonely boatman sings a mournful tune, Beneath the stars that shimmer late and soon. His song tells tales of lovers long apart, Of seasons changing, yet one constant heart. The water whispers secrets to the shore, Of journeys taken, and of many more. The night breeze carries fragrance of the pine, A taste of twilight, delicate and fine. He rows with rhythm, steady as the tide, With memories his ever-faithfu...
