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.