Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam,

An ancient pine recounts a dream

Of whispered tales through rustling boughs,

Of timeless truths it still endows.

A traveler paused in weary plight,

Heard branches murmur through the night

Of mountains high and rivers deep,

Secrets the winds forever keep.

The stars above like diamonds shone,

As pine needles softly intoned

Sagas of ages long since passed,

In nature’s memory held fast.

At dawn the man went on his way,

But carried what the pines would say -

That in each tree, each stone, each stream,

Lives more than what the eyes may deem.

Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam,

An ancient pine recounts a dream

Of whispered tales through rustling boughs,

Of timeless truths it still endows.

A traveler paused in weary plight,

Heard branches murmur through the night

Of mountains high and rivers deep,

Secrets the winds forever keep.

The stars above like diamonds shone,

As pine needles softly intoned

Sagas of ages long since passed,

In nature’s memory held fast.

At dawn the man went on his way,

But carried what the pines would say -

That in each tree, each stone, each stream,

Lives more than what the eyes may deem.