Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam,

An ancient pine shares whispered dreams.

Its branches trace the stars above,

While telling tales of timeless love.

A traveler rests against its bark,

And listens to the forest’s dark.

The wind carries a mournful sigh,

Of lovers who once said goodbye.

Yet in the rustling, hope remains—

New life from last autumn’s rains.

The pine still stands through passing years,

Drying imaginary tears.

Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam,

An ancient pine shares whispered dreams.

Its branches trace the stars above,

While telling tales of timeless love.

A traveler rests against its bark,

And listens to the forest’s dark.

The wind carries a mournful sigh,

Of lovers who once said goodbye.

Yet in the rustling, hope remains—

New life from last autumn’s rains.

The pine still stands through passing years,

Drying imaginary tears.