A silver moon drifts on the river’s breast, Where willow branches bend to touch the tide. A lonely boatman sings his nightly quest, With echoes drifting where the fishes glide. He thinks of home beyond the distant hills, Where chrysanthemums bloom by old stone walls. The water holds a truth his heart fulfills— That peace is found where quiet twilight falls. No need for words beneath this boundless sky, The stars themselves are poems writ in light. The current whispers as it flows by: “All jou...
