The silver moon hangs o’er the tranquil lake,

Where willow branches dance and softly sway.

A lonely boat drifts by for heaven’s sake,

As stars above begin to fade away.

An old man sits upon the mossy stone,

His flute’s sweet melody the night embraces.

He plays for dreams that once were brightly sown,

And memories time never erases.

The water shimmers with each gentle note,

While distant mountains sleep in misty blue.

A fish leaps up as if to catch the float,

Of tunes that speak of joys and sorrows true.

At last he lays his instrument to rest,

The moon his only witness in the night.

Some songs are better left within the breast—

Some truths too deep for any words to write.