Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, An ancient oak relates a stream Of tales from ages long since passed— Of lovers’ vows that ever last, Of battles fought in honor’s name, And whispered dreams that still remain. A gentle breeze carries the sound Through sleeping villages around, Where farmers rest from daily care And stars watch over everywhere. The pine trees hum a lullaby Beneath the watchful midnight sky. Two childhood friends once met right here, Beneath these boughs they held so dear....
