Beneath the silver moon, the river flows so wide, A lonely fisherman rows with the turning tide. His lantern flickers soft, a star on waters deep, While distant mountains slumber, secrets they all keep. He casts his net in silence where the reed-bends sigh, And catches moonbeams woven with a lullaby. The night breeze hums an old tune, carried on the wave, Of lovers long departed, and the hearts they gave. At dawn the mists will rise like ghosts upon the shore, Yet he’ll still drift where memo...
