Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, Where silent mountains stand supreme, A gentle breeze through pine needles sighs, Weaving tales ‘neath starlit skies. An ancient oak with branches wide Guards secrets that the woods hide; Its leaves murmur of ages past, Of friendships forged and shadows cast. A brooklet dances o’er smooth stones, Singing in harmonious tones, Carving pathways through the earth, Echoing dreams of timeless worth. Though seasons change and years may fly, These woods hold trut...
