Beneath the silver moon’s gentle glow Ancient pines whisper tales of long ago Of emperors who walked these forest trails And poets seeking inspiration in nightingales Their needles weave a tapestry so grand Across this mystical, time-worn land Each breeze carries secrets from distant years Of joy and sorrow, laughter and tears A lone traveler pauses in the quiet night Listening to stories in the soft moonlight How many centuries have these trees stood tall? Witnessing history’s rise and fall ...
