Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, Two ancient pines share whispered dreams. Their roots entwined in earth’s deep hold, Stories of centuries unfold. One speaks of storms it braved alone, Of how the wind had shaped its throne. The other tells of gentle rains, That washed away its deepest pains. A traveler rests against their bark, And listens to the trees in dark. He finds in their enduring rhyme, The patient heartbeat of all time. No moral ends this quiet tale, Just peace that on the night...
