Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, An ancient pine recalls a stream Where laughing children once would play Through long and sun-drenched summer days. Its needles murmur tales untold Of lovers’ vows in times of old, Of warriors resting in its shade Before their final charge was made. Now silent stars keep watch above This guardian of memory and love, Whose roots still cling to stony earth— A witness to both grief and mirth. The winds will change, the seasons turn, Yet in its boughs, old le...