Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, An ancient pine recalls a stream Where laughing children once did play, Now but a memory passed away. Its needles murmur tales untold Of knights in armor, brave and bold, Of lovers’ vows in twilight made, Beneath its everlasting shade. A wandering bard with weary feet Once found beneath its boughs a seat, And strummed a melody so deep That even stars forgot to sleep. The seasons turn, the years roll by, Yet steadfast stands this tree so high, Still whispe...
