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.