Beneath the moon's soft silver gleam, Ancient pines whisper a forgotten dream. Their needles trace tales on the night's dark screen, Of mountain spirits, silent and unseen. A traveler pauses, breath held in the air, Hearing echoes of joy and old despair. The wind composes verses, slow and deep, As stars above their timeless vigil keep. No need for words when nature starts to sing— Her symphony makes the coldest heart take wing.

Beneath the moon's soft silver gleam, Ancient pines whisper a forgotten dream. Their needles trace tales on the night's dark screen, Of mountain spirits, silent and unseen. A traveler pauses, breath held in the air, Hearing echoes of joy and old despair. The wind composes verses, slow and deep, As stars above their timeless vigil keep. No need for words when nature starts to sing— Her symphony makes the coldest heart take wing.