Beneath the red tree, where the autumn leaves fly,
The moon rests in silence, immense in the sky.
A flute sends its whisper through mountains of blue,
And the river keeps singing an old song anew.
The dark pines stand quietly, watching the stream,
While mist folds the valley as soft as a dream.
A guzheng answers gently from far on the shore,
One voice calls to another, then asks nothing more.
The warrior stands lonely where black waters gleam,
Half lost in the night, half awake in a dream.
No words are spoken, yet nothing feels still,
The moon hears the music, the mountains hear still.
Red leaves fall slowly through cold autumn air,
Like fragments of memories too beautiful to bear.
The flute carries sorrow, the guzheng carries light,
And both meet together beneath the moonlit night.
Here heaven is water, and earth is the sky,
The living and fallen pass quietly by.
No beginning, no ending, no need to explain,
Just music like moonlight falling through rain.
And if you sit quietly, the night will reveal
What silence has hidden, what music can heal.
The heart becomes water, the restless thoughts cease,
And beneath the red moon, the world finds its peace.