A silver ribbon through the night it flows, Past silent hills where sleeping blossom grows. A lonely fisherman in his small boat, Sings ancient tunes that from his heart do float. The moon reflects on water, clear and bright, A path of diamonds in the soft twilight. He thinks of home, so far across the land, And draws his net with weathered, patient hand. The stars above like distant lanterns gleam, As memories drift through his waking dream. Of laughter shared upon a distant shore, And promi...
