The Whispering Pines
Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, An ancient pine shares secret dreams. Its needles trace the stories old, Of lovers’ vows and courage bold. A traveler rests against its bark, Hears whispers fading into dark. The wind composes melodies, That dance through branches in the breeze. Two centuries of sun and rain, Have witnessed joy and borne the pain. Yet still it stands with grace profound, Where truth and legend both are found. The stars above blink in reply, To tales that never truly die.
The Whispering Pines
Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, An ancient pine shares secret dreams. Its needles trace the stories old, Of lovers’ vows and courage bold. A traveler rests against its bark, Hears whispers fading into dark. The wind composes melodies, That dance through branches in the breeze. Two centuries of sun and rain, Have witnessed joy and borne the pain. Yet still it stands with grace profound, Where truth and legend both are found. The stars above blink in reply, To tales that never truly die.
