Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, An ancient oak recalls a stream That once did through the valley wind, Carving stories in its rind. A traveler paused at eventide, Where shadow and the light abide, He heard the pines’ low, gentle sigh, Like echoes from a long-gone sky. They spoke of kings and maidens fair, Of courage born from deep despair, Of seasons turning, year by year, And hope that conquers every fear. The wind carried the tale away, To greet the dawn of another day.

Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, An ancient oak recalls a stream That once did through the valley wind, Carving stories in its rind. A traveler paused at eventide, Where shadow and the light abide, He heard the pines’ low, gentle sigh, Like echoes from a long-gone sky. They spoke of kings and maidens fair, Of courage born from deep despair, Of seasons turning, year by year, And hope that conquers every fear. The wind carried the tale away, To greet the dawn of another day.