The silver moon hangs o’er the tranquil lake,

Where weeping willows their quiet vigil keep.

A lonely boat drifts by for heaven’s sake,

As stars begin their dance in waters deep.

An old man sits upon the mossy stone,

His memories like ripples gently spread.

He thinks of days and loves he’s ever known,

While fireflies around his white hair spread.

The night breeze carries fragrance of the plum,

A distant temple bell rings soft and clear.

Though winter’s frost may soon in silence come,

This perfect night holds nothing he should fear.

The moon herself now smiles upon the scene,

And paints the world in shades of blue and dream.