Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, An ancient oak relates a dream. Of seasons passed in hushed repose, While time’s quiet river ever flows. Two wandering souls by chance did meet Where mountain mist and valley greet. They spoke of journeys yet untold, In tales more precious far than gold. Through sunlit fields and starlit nights, They shared their wonders, fears, and sights. Till dawn arrived in pastel hue, With morning dew and fresh review. The world keeps turning, swift and vast, But mom...
