Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, An ancient pine recalls a dream. Its needles trace in fragrant air A tale of love beyond compare. Two souls once met where shadows dance, Their meeting not by simple chance. He was a scholar, she a maid, Beneath these boughs their vows were made. The seasons turned, the years took flight, Through war’s dark day and peace’s night. Still rooted deep in memory’s soil, Their story makes the pines not foil. Now wanderers who pass this way Hear echoes of that d...
