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 morning’s light.