Beneath the silver moon’s gentle glow, Ancient pines whisper tales of long ago. A traveler rests on mossy stone, Hearing echoes in the wind’s low moan. Of mountains high and rivers deep, Secrets the forest vows to keep. A distant bell from temple rings, As nightingales begin to sing. Stars like diamonds pierce the dark, Each leaving its eternal mark. The journey long, the path untried, With nature’s wisdom as his guide. He closes eyes to sleep awhile, Wearing dawn’s first light with a smile.
