Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, An ancient pinewood tells a dream. Its needles trace on forest floor What time and memory restore. A traveler paused at eventide Where shadow and the light divide. He heard the boughs in whispered speech Of mountains yet beyond his reach. They spoke of seasons come and passed, Of friendships forged that ever last, Of silent strength through wind and snow— What roots learn only deep below. The wind arose, the whispers fled, But in his heart their words wer...
