Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, An ancient pinewood tells a dream. Its needles trace on forest floor, What time and memory restore. A traveler paused at eventide, Where shadow and the light divide. He heard a voice among the boughs— Not wind, but words from long-lost vows. Of lovers who beneath this tree, Swore faith for all eternity. Their names now carved in bark grown old, A story time could never hold. The stars above like witnesses, Through centuries of silences. Still keep the sec...