The silver moon hangs o’er the tranquil lake, Where willow branches gentle ripples make. A lonely boat drifts through the misty night, Guided by stars that shimmer soft and bright. Upon the shore, an elder sighs with grace, Recalling youth’s swift-footed fleeting chase. His lute plays tunes of laughter and of tears, Echoing across the silent years. Though time may fade the blossoms of the spring, The heart still hears the songs the memories sing. Beneath the moon, all souls find common ground...
