The Whispering Pines
Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, A lonely pine stands by the stream. Its needles murmur ancient tales, Of winter’s bite and summer gales. A traveler rests against its bark, And listens to the forest’s dark. The wind recalls a lover’s vow, From ages long before this now. The stars above in silence keep, The secrets buried deep and deep. Yet in the quiet, truths unfold— A story older than the old.
The Whispering Pines
Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, A lonely pine stands by the stream. Its needles murmur ancient tales, Of winter’s bite and summer gales. A traveler rests against its bark, And listens to the forest’s dark. The wind recalls a lover’s vow, From ages long before this now. The stars above in silence keep, The secrets buried deep and deep. Yet in the quiet, truths unfold— A story older than the old.
