The Whispering Pines
Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, An ancient pine recalls a stream Where laughter danced on sunlit stones And joy etched hearts in tender tones. Through seasons turned to dust and gold, Its whispered tales are never old— Of lovers’ vows in spring’s embrace, Of winter’s still, uncharted space. One wandering soul now pauses near To trace the bark, to shed a tear, For in its grooves, time’s truth appears: Both sorrows fade and hope perseveres. The wind breathes through the needled bough A pr...
The Whispering Pines
Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, An ancient pine recalls a stream Where laughter danced on sunlit stones And joy etched hearts in tender tones. Through seasons turned to dust and gold, Its whispered tales are never old— Of lovers’ vows in spring’s embrace, Of winter’s still, uncharted space. One wandering soul now pauses near To trace the bark, to shed a tear, For in its grooves, time’s truth appears: Both sorrows fade and hope perseveres. The wind breathes through the needled bough A pr...
