Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, An ancient pine shares secret dreams. Its needles trace the passing years, And hold the joy, the pain, the tears. A traveler rests against its bark, And listens to the forest’s dark. The wind conveys a murmured tale, Of love that made a strong heart frail. Two souls once met where branches sway, Then parted on a autumn day. One promise made, one token kept, While generations softly slept. The tree still stands, the story stays, A quiet hum through sun and...
