A silver ribbon winds through sleeping hills, Where cold stars dance on liquid, shifting light. A lone boat drifts, the night with wonder fills, As whispers weave through fabric of the night. The fisherman sings of forgotten years, His voice a bridge to worlds beyond our own. The current bears his melody and tears, While moonbeams stitch the darkness, thread by thread. No need for wine to feel this deep delight, The river’s song intoxicates the soul. It flows forever into endless night, A tim...
