Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, An ancient pine recalls a stream That once did through the valley flow, Where memories like soft breezes blow. A traveler paused in weary plight, And heard the tree tell tales at night Of lovers’ vows and warriors’ dreams, Lost in time’s ever-changing streams. The wind now sings through boughs so deep, A lullaby for those asleep, While stars above in silence keep Watch over valleys wide and steep. Though centuries may come and pass, The pine still stands ...
