Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, An ancient pine shares secret dreams. Its needles trace tales on the breeze— Of mountain paths and frozen streams. A traveler pauses in the night, Hearing whispers in fading light. The tree recalls a poet’s song That echoed these woods for long. Stars blink through branches, old and wise, Holding memories beneath the skies. No mortal ear may fully know What truths the pines to winds bestow. Yet in that hush, a soul may find Peace woven through the forest’...
