Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, two ancient pines converse in dreams. Their boughs like weathered arms extend, as rustling secrets softly blend. One speaks of mountains clad in mist, where eagles soar through amethyst. The other sighs of seasons’ turn, when emerald needles learn to burn with autumn’s gold and winter’s grace, yet still they stand in time and space. A wandering poet pauses near, their whispered wisdom sharp and clear. He inks their tale on parchment white—a testament to s...