Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, An ancient oak relates a dream Of travelers from a distant shore Who sought what legends held in store. They followed maps of fading ink To where earth’s boundaries softly sink, And found a spring that hums a tune Beneath the crescent moon. There lies no gold nor jewel bright, But something far more rare and right— A peace that settles in the soul And makes the broken fragments whole. Now wanderers still sometimes hear That melody, serene and clear, When ...

Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, An ancient oak relates a dream Of travelers from a distant shore Who sought what legends held in store. They followed maps of fading ink To where earth’s boundaries softly sink, And found a spring that hums a tune Beneath the crescent moon. There lies no gold nor jewel bright, But something far more rare and right— A peace that settles in the soul And makes the broken fragments whole. Now wanderers still sometimes hear That melody, serene and clear, When ...