Beneath the moon's soft silver gleam, An ancient oak recalls a stream Where laughing children once did play, Their echoes fading day by day. A traveler paused to hear its tale, Of seasons passing without fail, How roots run deep through joy and strife, And stillness holds the thread of life. The wind then stirred through branches high, Whispering truths against the sky: "Though storms may bend and time may wear, What matters most is standing there."

Beneath the moon's soft silver gleam, An ancient oak recalls a stream Where laughing children once did play, Their echoes fading day by day. A traveler paused to hear its tale, Of seasons passing without fail, How roots run deep through joy and strife, And stillness holds the thread of life. The wind then stirred through branches high, Whispering truths against the sky: "Though storms may bend and time may wear, What matters most is standing there."