The Wandering Moon

Beneath the glow of the silver moon, 
traveler sang a lonesome tune.
Her steps were soft, her pace was slow,
through shadowed woods where cold winds blow.
She clutched a map with faded lines,
a tale of treasures and ancient signs.
Yet whispers called from the forest deep, 
Promising secrets the stars would keep. 
"Turn back," the voices seemed to wail,
For none who ventured lived to tell their tale.
But courage burned in the traveler's chest,
She'd find the truth, or she'd never rest.
Through twisted roots and hollowed trees,
She fought the dark and the biting breeze.
Until, at last, she saw the light,
A golden glow in the heart of night.
A chest of dreams, her hands did find,
But with it came the curse designed.
For treasures sought by a heart untrue
would turn the seeker into dew.
And now the forest holds her song,
A haunting tune where she belongs.
The silver moon hears her refrain,
A traveler lost but never slain.