Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, An ancient oak recalls a stream Where laughing children once did play, Their echoes fading day by day. A traveler paused at eventide, With weary steps and eyes quite wide. He heard the pines’ low, gentle sigh, Like secrets whispered from on high. “Two lovers met where rivers bend, Promises made that knew no end. But seasons turned and years flew fast, Their golden dreams could not outlast.” The wind carried this tale so old, Of hearts grown weary, love gr...
