The Whispering Pines
Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, An ancient pine recounts a dream. Of whispered tales through rustling boughs, Where time herself briefly allows. A traveler paused in twilight’s hue, To hear what only pines construe. Of lovers’ vows in spring’s embrace, And winter’s frost on nature’s face. Each needle holds a story sealed, In fragrant resins, slow revealed. The mountain keeps what men forget— Both joy and timeless regret. Now stars emerge like memories bright, As day concedes to thoughtf...
The Whispering Pines
Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, An ancient pine recounts a dream. Of whispered tales through rustling boughs, Where time herself briefly allows. A traveler paused in twilight’s hue, To hear what only pines construe. Of lovers’ vows in spring’s embrace, And winter’s frost on nature’s face. Each needle holds a story sealed, In fragrant resins, slow revealed. The mountain keeps what men forget— Both joy and timeless regret. Now stars emerge like memories bright, As day concedes to thoughtf...
