Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, Two ancient pines share a silent dream. Their branches weave through misty air, Exchanging tales of earth’s repair. One speaks of mountains, old and deep, Where secrets in the stones still sleep. The other sighs of winds that trace The lines of time on nature’s face. No human ear has heard their song, Yet in their grace, we all belong. They stand as guardians, wise and true— A timeless dance in morning’s dew.

Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, Two ancient pines share a silent dream. Their branches weave through misty air, Exchanging tales of earth’s repair. One speaks of mountains, old and deep, Where secrets in the stones still sleep. The other sighs of winds that trace The lines of time on nature’s face. No human ear has heard their song, Yet in their grace, we all belong. They stand as guardians, wise and true— A timeless dance in morning’s dew.