The Whispering Pines
Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, An ancient oak relates a stream Of secrets carried on the breeze— Of lonely shores and stormy seas. A traveler paused to hear its tale, Of winter’s frost and summer’s hail, How roots run deep through stone and clay, To greet the dawn of brighter days. The stars above in silence listened, Their constant vigil never glistened With judgment for the flawed and weak, But strength for those who truly seek. So rest your heart where light has trod, And find your ...
The Whispering Pines
Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, An ancient oak relates a stream Of secrets carried on the breeze— Of lonely shores and stormy seas. A traveler paused to hear its tale, Of winter’s frost and summer’s hail, How roots run deep through stone and clay, To greet the dawn of brighter days. The stars above in silence listened, Their constant vigil never glistened With judgment for the flawed and weak, But strength for those who truly seek. So rest your heart where light has trod, And find your ...
