Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, An ancient pine recounts a dream Of wandering winds and distant spheres, Echoing through a thousand years. A traveler paused to hear its tale— How stars would dance and comets trail Across the heavens’ vast design, Weaving fate with threads divine. The tree spoke of mountains old and deep, Where timeless secrets lie asleep, And rivers carrying in their flow The whispered wisdom none may know. Now only silence fills the night, But those who listen with inn...
