Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, Where silent waters gently stream, A lonely pine tree stands in grace, Carving its thoughts upon time’s face. Through seasons’ turn and ages past, Its whispered secrets hold them fast— Of lovers’ vows in spring’s embrace, And winter’s frost on nature’s lace. One night a traveler, lost and worn, Heard wisdom in the branches borne: “Though roots may cling to ancient stone, New paths by wandering feet are known.” Now when the wind breathes through the wood, ...