Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam,

A lonely stream began to dream.

It whispered to the ancient trees

Of mountains high and ocean breeze.

The pines replied with rustling sighs,

Their branches painting starry skies.

They spoke of times when dragons flew

And mornings filled with diamond dew.

A traveler paused to hear the tale,

His heart set free beyond the veil.

He left his worries on the ground

Where magic and the real are found.

Now when the night wind starts to sing,

You’ll hear the forest remembering.