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 still stands, both old and wise,

Beneath the vast and endless skies.