Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam,

An ancient oak recalls the stream

That sang of journeys yet untold

In melodies from days of old.

A traveler paused to hear its song,

And in that moment, felt the strong

And gentle pull of memories deep—

Both waking thoughts and dreams asleep.

He saw the seasons dance and turn,

The winter frost, the summer fern,

And understood with sudden grace

How time itself can find its place.

Now when the wind blows through the trees,

It carries stories on the breeze—

Of moments lost and truths found there,

In whispers floating through the air.

Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam,

An ancient oak recalls the stream

That sang of journeys yet untold

In melodies from days of old.

A traveler paused to hear its song,

And in that moment, felt the strong

And gentle pull of memories deep—

Both waking thoughts and dreams asleep.

He saw the seasons dance and turn,

The winter frost, the summer fern,

And understood with sudden grace

How time itself can find its place.

Now when the wind blows through the trees,

It carries stories on the breeze—

Of moments lost and truths found there,

In whispers floating through the air.