Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, An ancient pine forest stands in dream. Its needled boughs, with wisdom deep, Guard secrets that the mountains keep. A traveler, lost in thought and time, Hears whispers in a rhythm rhyme. The wind through branches tells a tale Of ages past, both stark and pale. A fox appears with eyes so bright, Reflecting pale and ghostly light. It leads him through the shadowed maze, Beneath the stars’ eternal gaze. He finds a stream where waters clear Have washed away...