Beneath the silver moon’s gentle glow, Ancient pines whisper secrets soft and low. Their branches sway in the midnight breeze, Carrying tales through centuries. A traveler pauses, his heart at ease, Hearing the rustling among the trees. They speak of love, of joy, and strife, The evergreen memories of life. In this quiet forest, time stands still, As the pines share their eternal will. Nature’s poetry, pure and deep, A promise the mountains forever keep.
