The silver moon hangs o’er the tranquil lake, Where willow branches dance and gently shake. A lonely boat drifts on the water deep, While weary fishermen lie fast asleep. Upon the shore, a scholar walks alone, His thoughts as distant as the temple’s tone. He recalls promises made in spring’s embrace, Now faded like petals time did erase. The stars above whisper tales of old, Of lovers’ warmth against the winter’s cold. Yet here he stands where memories reside, With moonlight as his solitary g...
