The Whispering Pines
Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, An ancient pinewood tells a dream. Its boughs like wise men’s arms extend, Where feathered secrets lightly bend. A traveler paused in twilight’s hue To hear the wind’s old stories through. Each needle stirred with memories deep— Of lovers’ vows the mountains keep, Of warriors’ rest in soil so steep. Yet as the stars began to climb, The pines whispered of endless time: “How brief the sorrows humans bear, Like dewdrops in our tangled hair.” He walked away w...
The Whispering Pines
Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, An ancient pinewood tells a dream. Its boughs like wise men’s arms extend, Where feathered secrets lightly bend. A traveler paused in twilight’s hue To hear the wind’s old stories through. Each needle stirred with memories deep— Of lovers’ vows the mountains keep, Of warriors’ rest in soil so steep. Yet as the stars began to climb, The pines whispered of endless time: “How brief the sorrows humans bear, Like dewdrops in our tangled hair.” He walked away w...
