Beneath the silver moon, the river flows,

A silent path where midnight current goes.

No worldly noise disturbs this tranquil scene,

Just water’s gentle dance in lunar sheen.

A lonely boat appears from misty veil,

Its aged sails by breezes softly pale.

An angler sits with rod and patient heart,

From life’s loud burdens happily apart.

He casts no line for fish of flesh or scale,

But fishes for the peace that will not fail.

The moon reflects his soul upon the stream,

More real than waking life, this water-dream.

The banks are lined with willows bending low,

Whispering truths that only night can know.

Their leaves write poems on the water’s face,

In liquid ink that time cannot erase.

Dawn comes at last with hues of gold and rose,

The mystic night its secret still bestows.

The boat has vanished with the fading moon,

Leaving the river flowing—timeless tune.