Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, An ancient pine recounts a dream. Of whispered tales through rustling boughs, Where time itself makes solemn vows. A traveler paused in twilight’s hue, To hear the wind’s old story true. Of mountains high and valleys deep, Where memories and secrets sleep. Each needle holds a drop of dew, Like moments fresh and perspectives new. The stars above in silence keep, Watch o’er the world as forests sleep. Now in this grove, both still and vast, We find the peac...
