Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, An ancient pine recalls a stream Where laughing children once did play, Now silent in the fading day. Its needles murmur to the breeze Of seasons past, of memories - Of winter snows and summer light, Of stars that graced its boughs at night. A traveler rests against its bark, Hearing whispers in the dark: “All things must change, yet love remains Like roots deep in the earth’s domains.” The dawn will come, the bird take flight, But peace endures in mornin...
