Beneath the silver moon, the river flows so wide, A gentle breeze whispers through the bamboo on the side. A lonely boat drifts slowly, with an old man at the oar, He sings a song of memories from days he can’t restore. The stars above are shining like diamonds in the deep, While on the bank, the willows quietly weep. He thinks of youth and laughter, of love that slipped away, Now just a fading echo at the close of day. Yet in this peaceful stillness, he finds a tender grace, A moment out of ...
