A silver ribbon winds through sleeping hills, Where cold stars dance upon the gentle swells. A lonely fisherman lights his tiny flame, His song of solitude the night reclaims. No words are traded with the moon’s pale glow, Just heartbeats sync with currents soft and slow. The boat becomes a leaf on time’s own stream, Blending with mist like fragments of a dream. Tomorrow’s shores may bring unknown designs, But peace is found in water’s whispered lines. This ancient journey—solitude’s sweet ar...
