Beneath the silver moon’s gentle glow,

A lonely traveler walks through night’s soft flow.

His shadow dances on the silent ground,

While distant temple bells produce the only sound.

He pauses by a bridge where waters sleep,

And memories from ancient depths now creep.

The river speaks of dynasties long past,

Of lovers’ vows that were too frail to last.

A single lotus on the stream does float,

Like hope afloat in every human throat.

The stars above whisper their old design—

This moment, like all things, shall too decline.

Yet in this transient world, he finds a grace:

The moonlight’s kiss upon the water’s face.