Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, Where silent mountains guard the stream, A lone pine whispers ancient tales Of winter winds and summer gales. Two travelers met at dusk’s last light, One bound for day, one for the night. They shared a fire, some bread, some wine, Beneath those venerable pines. “Where does your journey take you, friend?” “To seek the world’s far distant end.” “And you?” “To home I make my way, To greet the coming break of day.” They spoke of dreams and memories, Of sorrow...