Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, An ancient pine forest stands in dream. Its needles murmur tales untold, Of winters harsh and summers gold. A traveler paused one starlit night, Hearing whispers in fading light. They spoke of love and courage vast, Echoes from a timeless past. Through every season, steadfast still, On windy ridge and silent hill. These sentinels of nature’s grace, Watch over time and endless space.
