A silver ribbon winds through sleeping hills, Where cold stars dance on liquid, flowing light. No voice is heard but whispers from the rills, As heaven’s glow dissolves into the night. An empty boat drifts where the currents lead, Its oars at rest like some forgotten thought. The pines along the shore stand still and heed The lessons that the moving waves have taught. Who knows how far this journey yet may go? The moon herself has watched these waters pass— She sees the timeless ebbs and flow...
