Beneath the silver moon’s gentle glow, Where whispering pines tell tales of old, A lonely traveler walks with grace, Leaving footprints in the frosty space. He pauses by a frozen stream, Lost in a melancholy dream, Of distant lands and friends long gone, Under the same moon shining on. The wind carries a haunting tune, Beneath the stars that watch in June, A nightingale begins to sing, Of hope that new seasons bring. Though winter’s chill still grips the air, He feels a warmth beyond compare,...
