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 most solemn hours.

He dips his brush in moonlight, starts to write

Of transient joys that make our burdens light.