Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, two ancient pines converse in dreams. They speak of seasons come and gone, of gentle rains and winter’s dawn. One recalls a passing fawn, the other sighs for mornings drawn. Their rustling boughs weave tales untold, in forest deep where time grows old. A wandering bard once paused to hear their woody whispers, drawing near. He caught their words in ink and verse, a gift to soothe the universe. Now through the woods their stories breeze, carried far by rus...

Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, two ancient pines converse in dreams. They speak of seasons come and gone, of gentle rains and winter’s dawn. One recalls a passing fawn, the other sighs for mornings drawn. Their rustling boughs weave tales untold, in forest deep where time grows old. A wandering bard once paused to hear their woody whispers, drawing near. He caught their words in ink and verse, a gift to soothe the universe. Now through the woods their stories breeze, carried far by rus...