The Whispering Pines
Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, Where silent mountains guard the stream, A lone wolf howls a mournful tune To greet the rising winter moon. An ancient oak with branches bare Stands witness to the frigid air, Its roots entwined with frozen stone In forests where few souls have known. Yet in the stillness, life persists— A trail of breath the cold has kissed, A fox that tracks through powdered snow Where icy constellations glow. This world endures in hushed repose, While time, like windin...
The Whispering Pines
Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, Where silent mountains guard the stream, A lone wolf howls a mournful tune To greet the rising winter moon. An ancient oak with branches bare Stands witness to the frigid air, Its roots entwined with frozen stone In forests where few souls have known. Yet in the stillness, life persists— A trail of breath the cold has kissed, A fox that tracks through powdered snow Where icy constellations glow. This world endures in hushed repose, While time, like windin...
