Cloudy skies, shadows of lone figures flowing down like a stream.
Umbrellas dripping with rain water float by like a dream.
But I am a stagnant pond waiting for the moon.
Wine in my cup and storming nights do loom.
Ripples of fate pushing away flowers, but I alone await for the moon.
The welkin moon once shone for me, but now all I have is a leaf.
Stagnant and trapped in that lake, it awaits.
Only able to gaze upon a reflection of memories.