The Whispering Pines
Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, An ancient pinewood tells a dream. Its needles trace on forest floor What time and memory restore. A traveler paused at eventide Where shadow and the light divide. He heard a voice like rustling rain That spoke of joy and older pain. “Walk where the roots make patterns deep, And secrets that the mountains keep Shall rise like mist to meet the moon— A forgotten yet familiar tune.” So passed an hour or maybe years, The wisdom washed away his fears. He left ...
The Whispering Pines
Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, An ancient pinewood tells a dream. Its needles trace on forest floor What time and memory restore. A traveler paused at eventide Where shadow and the light divide. He heard a voice like rustling rain That spoke of joy and older pain. “Walk where the roots make patterns deep, And secrets that the mountains keep Shall rise like mist to meet the moon— A forgotten yet familiar tune.” So passed an hour or maybe years, The wisdom washed away his fears. He left ...
The Whispering Pines
Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, Where silent waters gently stream, A lonely pine whispers ancient tales Of mountain paths and shifting gales. Two travelers met one autumn night, Their faces pale in fading light, One carried memories old and deep, The other promises yet to keep. They spoke of journeys long complete, Of bitter losses and victories sweet, Till dawn approached with hues of rose, As through the mist each went their way. The pine still stands where they conversed, Its branche...
The Whispering Pines
Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, Where silent waters gently stream, A lonely pine whispers ancient tales Of mountain paths and shifting gales. Two travelers met one autumn night, Their faces pale in fading light, One carried memories old and deep, The other promises yet to keep. They spoke of journeys long complete, Of bitter losses and victories sweet, Till dawn approached with hues of rose, As through the mist each went their way. The pine still stands where they conversed, Its branche...
The Whispering Pines
Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, An ancient pine recounts a dream. Of whispered tales through rustling boughs, Of winter’s hush and summer’s vows. A traveler paused in twilight’s glow, His heart weighed down by worldly woe. The tree spoke not in words so clear, But in the peace that lingered near. He left at dawn with lighter soul, The pine’s calm wisdom making whole. For nature’s voice, though never heard, Can heal the heart without a word.
The Whispering Pines
Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, An ancient pine recounts a dream. Of whispered tales through rustling boughs, Of winter’s hush and summer’s vows. A traveler paused in twilight’s glow, His heart weighed down by worldly woe. The tree spoke not in words so clear, But in the peace that lingered near. He left at dawn with lighter soul, The pine’s calm wisdom making whole. For nature’s voice, though never heard, Can heal the heart without a word.
