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Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, An ancient pine recalls a stream Where laughing children once did play Through long forgotten summer days. Its needles murmur tales of old— Of lovers’ vows in courage told, Of warriors resting in its shade Before their final charge was made. A merchant carved his sweetheart’s name Before he sought the ocean’s claim; The bark has healed, the scar remains Like memory after autumn rains. Now hikers pause to touch its skin And feel the stories held within, Th...