Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, Where silent waters gently flow, The pines recount a ancient dream Of seasons passed and fallen snow. A traveler paused to hear their tale, His lantern casting golden light, While nightingales began to wail Through velvet fragments of the night. They spoke of emperors long dust, Of lovers’ vows in spring’s embrace, Of swords that once betrayed their trust, And time that none can yet outpace. The wind now hums what once was sung, As dawn approaches, pale a...
