Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, An ancient oak recalls a stream Where laughing children once would play And chase the summer light away. Two lovers carved their names in bark, A promise made before the dark Of war that called the boy away At breaking of the autumn day. The seasons turned with silent snow, While wind through branches sang of woe, Till spring brought green and one returned, Whose heart for home had always yearned. Now old and gray, they sit and trace The lines time cannot...
