Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, An ancient pine shares whispered dreams. Its branches trace the stars above, While telling tales of timeless love. A traveler rests against its bark, And listens to the forest’s dark. The wind carries a lullaby, As constellations paint the sky. One falling needle, sharp and green, Holds secrets in its tiny seam. It speaks of seasons come and gone, Of winter’s frost and summer’s dawn. The tree has stood a thousand years, Through human laughter, pain, and t...
