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 not taken, loves held tight,

Yet in their sighing branches sway

New promises to greet the day.