Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, An ancient oak recalls a stream Of memories from ages past— A love affair meant first to last. Two souls would meet by twilight’s glow, Where wild forget-me-nots would grow; He pledged his heart with rustic art, She vowed they’d never be apart. But war’s harsh trumpet called him hence, She waited with a patient sense— Weaving her hopes through seasons’ turn, Till loneliness began to burn. Now winds still sigh through needled boughs, Repeating still their ...
