The silver moon hangs o’er the tranquil lake, Where weeping willows their quiet vigil keep. A lonely boat drifts by for memory’s sake, While distant mountains slumber in their sleep. A poet strolls along the water’s edge, His shadow dancing on the gentle tide. He pauses by a weathered wooden ledge To watch the stars reflected deep and wide. The night wind whispers through the bamboo grove, Carrying tales of ancient lovers’ vows. A single lotus sways, as if to prove That beauty lives in these ...
