Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, An ancient pine recalls a dream. Its needles stir with memories deep, Of promises the winds still keep. A traveler once in midnight’s hour, Found shelter by the pine’s strong power. He carved a verse upon its bark, A lonely soul embraced by dark. The words have faded with the years, Yet still the tree holds back its tears. For in its heart the story stays, A human touch through autumn haze. Now stars above in patterns weave, What mortal minds can scarce p...