Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, A lonely stream began to dream. It whispered tales to ancient stones, Of mountain winds and buried bones. A hermit walked with staff in hand, Across this strange and wistful land. He heard the water’s murmured rhyme, A melody from olden time. “O traveler, rest your weary feet, Where memories and shadows meet. I’ve seen empires rise and fall, Yet peace awaits beyond the wall.” The pines echoed the water’s song, As night grew deep and stars thronged long. T...