Beneath the silver moon’s gentle glow, Ancient pines whisper secrets soft and low. Their branches sway in a timeless dance, Guarding the forest in silent trance. A traveler pauses, lost in thought, Hearing tales the wind has brought. Of mountains high and rivers deep, And promises the night will keep. Stars above like diamonds gleam, Weaving threads into a dream. Where past and present gently blend, On this journey without end.
