Beneath the silver moon’s gentle glow, Ancient pines whisper tales of long ago. A traveler pauses on the mossy stone path, Hearing echoes of laughter and sorrow’s aftermath. Their branches weave dreams in the starlit night, Guarding secrets hidden from plain sight. The wind carries memories through rustling leaves, Of joyous dances and autumn’s grieving sheaves. One tree remembers a princess’s tear, Another recalls a warrior’s fear. They stand as sentinels through passing years, Witnessing tr...
