Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, An ancient oak recalls the stream That once did dance through sunlit glades In simpler times and greener shades. A traveler paused to hear its tale Of how the wind would set the sail For dreams that climbed the starry height And vanished in the dawn’s first light. Two drops of dew on willow leaves Contained the joy that morning weaves— One held a laugh, one held a tear, Both timeless in their crystal sphere. The pines still whisper to the night Of paths n...
