Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, An ancient pine recalls a dream Of whispered tales through rustling boughs That time herself forgets somehow. A traveler paused in twilight’s hue To tie a ribbon, crimson-blue, While distant temple bells would ring The mountain’s silent answering. Now needles weave with starry light A tapestry of day and night, Where every breeze that stirs the trees Carries forgotten memories.
