Beneath the silver moon’s gentle glow, Ancient pines whisper tales of long ago. A traveler pauses on the mossy stone path, Hearing echoes of joy, sorrow, and wrath. Their branches weave dreams in the crisp night air, Of lovers’ vows and fortunes fair. Each rustling needle holds a secret kept, While the world below lies peacefully asleep. The wind carries stories across the distant hill, Where time itself seems to stand still. In this forest of memories, deep and vast, Eternity’s shadow is qui...
