Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, Where silent waters gently stream, A lonely pine tree stands in grace, Carving its thoughts upon time’s face. Its needles weave the tales of old, Of winters harsh and summers gold, Each rustling branch a whispered verse, That travels through the universe. A traveler pauses in the night, Hearing the tree’s solemn delight, And finds within its soft refrain, The peace to bear both joy and pain. For in the woods where shadows play, Wisdom blooms in quiet disp...
