Beneath the silver moon’s gentle glow, Ancient pines whisper secrets soft and low. Their branches sway in the night’s cool breeze, Carrying tales through centuries of trees. A traveler rests against the rugged bark, Listening to echoes in the dark. Of mountains high and rivers deep, Where memories and dreams both sleep. Each needle holds a story untold— Of winter’s frost and summer’s gold. The wind composes a timeless rhyme, Transcending the boundaries of space and time.
