Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, An ancient pinewood tells a dream. Its needles trace on forest floor What time and memory restore. A traveler paused at eventide Where shadow and the light divide. He heard a voice among the boughs That spoke of long-forgotten vows. The wind recalled a lover’s sigh, A promise made beneath this sky. The stars above, still witness true, To hearts that once in passion grew. Now silent stands the hallowed ground Where joy and sorrow both are found. The pines ...
