Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, An ancient pine shares whispered dreams. Its branches trace the stars above, While telling tales of timeless love. A traveler rests against its bark, And listens to the forest’s dark. The wind carries a melody, Of secrets from the century. He closes eyes to hear it clear— The laughter, sorrow, hope, and fear. Each needle holds a story deep, That time has sworn to guard and keep. At dawn he rises, soul renewed, With gratitude for nature’s rood. The pine st...
