The Whispering Pines
Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, An ancient oak recalls a stream Where laughing children once would play And chase the summer light away. A traveler paused to hear its tale Of whispered joys beyond the veil, How roots hold memories deep and true In every drop of morning dew. The wind then stirred through branches high With secrets murmured to the sky— That growth and grace both find their start When we embrace our own wild heart.
The Whispering Pines
Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, An ancient oak recalls a stream Where laughing children once would play And chase the summer light away. A traveler paused to hear its tale Of whispered joys beyond the veil, How roots hold memories deep and true In every drop of morning dew. The wind then stirred through branches high With secrets murmured to the sky— That growth and grace both find their start When we embrace our own wild heart.
