Beneath the boughs where moonlight weaves, A lonely traveler takes his rest, The rustling leaves tell ancient tales, Of journeys put unto the test. He dreams of mountains wrapped in mist, Of rivers flowing to the sea, The wind carries a haunting tune, That speaks of what is yet to be. At dawn he wakes to find the pines, Have guarded him throughout the night, Their whispered wisdom in his heart, He greets the new arriving light.
