Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, Ancient pines whisper a forgotten dream. Their needles trace tales on the mossy ground, Of travelers lost and secrets found. A lone hermit walks this wooded way, Greeting the dawn of each new day. He knows the language of the wind’s low sigh, And reads the stars that deck the night sky. In stillness, he finds the world’s true song— A harmony where all hearts belong. No need for riches, no thirst for fame, Just the peace that nature claims.

Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, Ancient pines whisper a forgotten dream. Their needles trace tales on the mossy ground, Of travelers lost and secrets found. A lone hermit walks this wooded way, Greeting the dawn of each new day. He knows the language of the wind’s low sigh, And reads the stars that deck the night sky. In stillness, he finds the world’s true song— A harmony where all hearts belong. No need for riches, no thirst for fame, Just the peace that nature claims.