The Whispering Pines
Beneath the silver moon’s gentle glow, Ancient pines whisper secrets soft and low. Their needles trace tales on the night’s dark veil, Of wandering winds and mountains pale. A traveler pauses, his heart held still, Listening to memories time cannot kill. The forest breathes with a timeless grace, Each rustling branch a sacred space. Stars blink slowly through the towering green, Guardians of stories heard but unseen. In this hushed world where past and present blend, The journey finds not an ...
The Whispering Pines
Beneath the silver moon’s gentle glow, Ancient pines whisper secrets soft and low. Their needles trace tales on the night’s dark veil, Of wandering winds and mountains pale. A traveler pauses, his heart held still, Listening to memories time cannot kill. The forest breathes with a timeless grace, Each rustling branch a sacred space. Stars blink slowly through the towering green, Guardians of stories heard but unseen. In this hushed world where past and present blend, The journey finds not an ...
