Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, A lonely pine recalls a dream Of ancient winds and songs long lost, In winter’s frost, no thought of cost. Two travelers met where pathways crossed, One bearing grief, one lightly tossed By fortune’s hand. They shared a fire, And spoke of lost and fond desire. At dawn they parted, nevermore To tread the same forgotten shore, Yet in the pine’s enduring sigh, Their brief encounter cannot die. The tree still keeps their whispered words, Like melodies from un...
