Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, An ancient oak relates a stream Of secrets carried on the breeze, Through rustling leaves and memories. A traveler paused to hear its tale Of mountain paths and misty vale, Where echoes of forgotten rhymes Dance with the chimes of distant times. Two centuries the tree has stood, Witness to both ill and good, Its rings contain the joy and tears Of passing days and vanished years. The story ends as dawn breaks through, The world awakes refreshed and new, Ye...