Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, Where silent waters gently stream, A lonely pine whispers ancient dreams Of mountain mist and starlit beams. Two travelers met at twilight’s hour, One fresh as spring, one like faded flower. They spoke of roads that twist and bend, Of journeys made and yet to end. The elder said with weathered sigh: “Youth walks with purpose, head held high. But time will teach your eager feet That bitter makes the sweet more sweet.” Their laughter rang through twilight’s...