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 long-lost years, Of joy and sorrow, hopes and fears. A maiden waits by water clear, Her heart still true, her vision sheer. Though seasons pass and worlds may change, Her spirit walks this mountain range. The traveler pauses, looks around, But ...
