Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, A lonely traveler follows a babbling stream. Through misty mountains, dark and deep, Where ancient pines their secrets keep. He hears a flute’s melancholic tune, That echoes beneath the star-strewn moon. A melody of forgotten years, Of joy and sorrow, hopes and fears. An old man sits on mossy stone, Playing for memories he’s ever known. They share no words, yet understand, Two wanderers in this midnight land. At dawn they part with silent nod, Both touche...
