Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, Where silent mountains guard the stream, A lonely pine begins to sing Of ancient dreams on feathered wing. Two travelers pause amidst the snow, Their path obscured in twilight’s glow. They hear the tree’s faint humming tune That mirrors stars and winter’s moon. One whispers of a long-lost vow Made ‘neath these very boughs somehow. The wind then carries through the night A melody of lost delight. They sit until the dawn’s first hue, Finding old hopes renew...
