Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, Where silent mountains guard the stream, A lone pine whispers ancient tales Of winter winds and summer gales. Two travelers met one twilight dim, Their eyes by fate’s faint light made brim. They spoke of journeys long and deep, While stars their silent vigil keep. One bore a scroll of verses old, Ink stained with stories yet untold. The other carried seeds of light, To plant in darkness of the night. They shared a flask of warming wine, Beneath the venera...
