Beneath the silver moon, the river flows so wide, A gentle breeze whispers through the bamboo on the side. A lonely boat drifts slowly, with no one in sight, Reflecting stars that shimmer in the quiet night. An old man on the bank, with fishing rod in hand, Recalls the dreams he wove across this ancient land. The waters tell old stories of joy and of despair, While fireflies dance like memories in the air. Though time may change the shores and wash the prints away, The moon still lights the p...