Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, An ancient oak recalls a stream That danced through youth in sunlit hours, Now stilled by time’s relentless powers. A traveler paused where shadows deep Guard secrets that the stones still keep. He heard the wind’s low, mournful sigh Tell tales of days long passed by. “Where go you now?” the pine trees call To fading echoes in the hall Of mountains old and valleys wide, Where memories and dreams abide. No answer comes but rustling leaves, As twilight’s ge...
