Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, An ancient oak relates a stream Of tales from ages long since past— Of love discovered, shadows cast. A traveler paused to hear its voice, And in that moment made a choice To leave behind the hurried lane And learn what stillness might contain. The wind carried a faint refrain, A melody of joy and pain, As stars above began to weave A truth that only hearts perceive. Now in these woods, if you should stray, You might still hear, at close of day, The echo ...
