Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, Where silent waters gently flow, A lonely pine stands by the stream, And whispers tales of long ago. It speaks of lovers’ vows exchanged, Of warriors marching off to war, Of seasons changed and worlds rearranged, And secrets kept forevermore. The wind carries its murmured song Through mountains high and valleys deep, Echoing where time moves along, While weary souls find rest in sleep. Each needle holds a story grand, Of joy and sorrow, loss and grace, Ro...
