He strums his old Guitar

The humble river flows quietly in a starry night
And he makes a sad tune sitting on the river bank.
From afar an owl hoots
While the Moon floats on the ripples.
He cries to the Moon; 'Please do not get drowned as I'll make you a song to rest on my side.'
'I am really fed up of those old songs the Sun too used to sing at all.'
Haughty Moon whispers in a friendly manner.

poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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