Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, An ancient pine recalls a stream Where laughing children once did play Through long since faded hours of day. Its needles murmur to the breeze Of buried roots and memories— Of lovers’ vows in twilight made, Beneath its everlasting shade. A weathered stone, half hid from sight, Bears names carved in the fading light. The pine still guards this quiet sphere Where time itself seems distant here. It whispers tales to stars above, Of loss, of hope, of endless ...

Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, An ancient pine recalls a stream Where laughing children once did play Through long since faded hours of day. Its needles murmur to the breeze Of buried roots and memories— Of lovers’ vows in twilight made, Beneath its everlasting shade. A weathered stone, half hid from sight, Bears names carved in the fading light. The pine still guards this quiet sphere Where time itself seems distant here. It whispers tales to stars above, Of loss, of hope, of endless ...