Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, An ancient pine recounts a dream Of whispered tales through rustling boughs, Where time herself briefly allows A mortal ear to hear the sound Of secrets buried in the ground. Two lovers met here long ago, Their promises caught in the snow, A soldier’s vow, a maiden’s tear, Still carried on the wind each year. The tree remembers every name Etched in the bark like sacred flame. Now wanderers who pause to rest Feel peace descend within their breast, For natu...
