The Whispering Pines
Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, An ancient pine shares secret dreams. Its needles trace the stars above, While whispering tales of timeless love. A traveler pauses in the night, Hearing echoes of pure light. The wind carries a melody, Of forgotten years and mystery. In every bough, a story sleeps, Where memory its vigil keeps. The forest holds both joy and pain, Like gentle, falling autumn rain.
The Whispering Pines
Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, An ancient pine shares secret dreams. Its needles trace the stars above, While whispering tales of timeless love. A traveler pauses in the night, Hearing echoes of pure light. The wind carries a melody, Of forgotten years and mystery. In every bough, a story sleeps, Where memory its vigil keeps. The forest holds both joy and pain, Like gentle, falling autumn rain.
