Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam,

An ancient pine recounts a dream.

Of whispered tales through rustling boughs,

Where time herself briefly allows.

A traveler paused in twilight’s hue,

To hear what only pines construe.

Of mountains old and rivers deep,

Secrets the winds in confidence keep.

Two hundred years have graced its bark,

Witness to both light and dark.

Yet in its essence, strong and free,

Lives all the world’s mystery.

Now rest your head and you shall find,

The peace that settles in the mind.

When listening to the forest’s song,

Where all true hearts to belong.

Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam,

An ancient pine recounts a dream.

Of whispered tales through rustling boughs,

Where time herself briefly allows.

A traveler paused in twilight’s hue,

To hear what only pines construe.

Of mountains old and rivers deep,

Secrets the winds in confidence keep.

Two hundred years have graced its bark,

Witness to both light and dark.

Yet in its essence, strong and free,

Lives all the world’s mystery.

Now rest your head and you shall find,

The peace that settles in the mind.

When listening to the forest’s song,

Where all true hearts to belong.