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 temple bells lull mountain cliffs to sleep. White gulls dance in pairs where mist and wavelets meet, As peach blossoms drift along his wooden boat so fleet. He sings of yesterday—of youth and love long past, Knowing this tranquil night too shall too become memory vast.