A still pond lies under moon’s gentle gaze, No wind disturbs its glassy, tranquil face. Suddenly leaps a fish with silver gleam, Shattering the stars in a watery dream. Old fisherman sits on mossy stone, Mending his net with hands alone. He hums a tune from forgotten years, Of joy and sorrow, laughter and tears. The night breathes deep, the world grows old, A story in the water’s fold unfolds. Not all that stirs is meant to stay, Like ripples fading away.
