The Whispering Pines
Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, Where silent mountains guard the stream, A lone crane soars through mists of time— Its wings trace verses in the clime. An old monk sweeps the temple stair, Each brush a prayer upon the air. The pine trees hum an ancient song— Of kings and dreams that once belonged. Why ask where timeless wisdom lies? Watch autumn leaves teach earth to fly.
The Whispering Pines
Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, Where silent mountains guard the stream, A lone crane soars through mists of time— Its wings trace verses in the clime. An old monk sweeps the temple stair, Each brush a prayer upon the air. The pine trees hum an ancient song— Of kings and dreams that once belonged. Why ask where timeless wisdom lies? Watch autumn leaves teach earth to fly.
