The Whispering Pines
Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, Tall pines whisper a timeless theme. Their needled branches gently sway, Guarding secrets of yesterday. A traveler pauses in the cool night air, Hearing wisdom in their murmurs there. No need for words when souls align With ancient voices of the divine. The wind composes its mystic song— Where all hearts belong and all fears are gone.
The Whispering Pines
Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, Tall pines whisper a timeless theme. Their needled branches gently sway, Guarding secrets of yesterday. A traveler pauses in the cool night air, Hearing wisdom in their murmurs there. No need for words when souls align With ancient voices of the divine. The wind composes its mystic song— Where all hearts belong and all fears are gone.
