Upon the mossy stones where shadows play, A lonely traveler lost his way. The moon, a silver coin in twilight’s keep, Cast secrets that the ancient pines would reap. He heard a murmur in the rustling boughs— A melody from forgotten vows. The wind-carved tales of joy and of despair, Of lovers’ sighs that vanished in the air. A fawn appeared with eyes like morning dew, And led him where the mountain lilies grew. There sat an elder with a beard of snow, Who spoke of truths that only wise men kno...