A silver moon drifts on the river’s flow, While whispers weave through willows soft and low. A lonely boatman sings a timeless tune, Beneath the watchful stars of midnight June. His oars dip gently, breaking stars apart, As memories bloom like lilies in his heart. He thinks of home—a cottage by the pine, Where lanterns glow with warmth almost divine. The current carries dreams both old and new, Across the dark, to places far and few. And though the night is deep and worlds are vast, This rive...
