Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, A lonely traveler follows a fading stream. Through misty valleys, dark and deep, Where ancient pines their secrets keep. He hears a voice upon the breeze, That rustles gently through the trees. It tells of love and lost delight, Of battles won on starlit nights. A maiden’s sigh, a warrior’s boast, Echo in the haunted forest. The whispers weave a tapestry, Of all that was and yet to be. He stops to rest on mossy stone, And knows he does not walk alone. For...
