Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, An ancient pinewood tells a dream. Its needles murmur tales of old, Of winters harsh and summers bold. A traveler paused to hear its song, And in that moment, felt belong To something vast, both deep and wise, That stretched beyond all human eyes. The wind-carved grooves on bark displayed The memories that never fade. Each rustling branch seemed to impart A secret to the listening heart. He walked away at break of dawn, With silent understanding born - Th...
