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 mournful sigh, Of kingdoms lost and days gone by. Yet in that sound, a hope takes flight - The dawn will break, dispelling night. The pine still stands through passing years, Its wisdom drying all our tears.
