The Whispering Pines
Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, An ancient pine recounts a dream Of whispered tales through rustling boughs That time itself cannot arouse. A traveler paused in twilight’s hue To hear what only pines construe - How mountains wear their robes of mist, Why stars in silent paths persist. Two centuries of wind and snow Had carved the stories it would show, Yet in its needles’ gentle sigh Lived all the truth beneath the sky. The man departed with the dawn, But carried forth the pine’s withdr...
The Whispering Pines
Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, An ancient pine recounts a dream Of whispered tales through rustling boughs That time itself cannot arouse. A traveler paused in twilight’s hue To hear what only pines construe - How mountains wear their robes of mist, Why stars in silent paths persist. Two centuries of wind and snow Had carved the stories it would show, Yet in its needles’ gentle sigh Lived all the truth beneath the sky. The man departed with the dawn, But carried forth the pine’s withdr...
