Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, Where silent waters gently stream, A lonely pine tree stands in grace, And time has carved its ancient face. The wind composes tales untold Of winters harsh and summers gold, Each needle holds a memory deep, Guardian of promises to keep. Through centuries of sun and rain, It bears both joy and passing pain, Yet reaches always for the light— A timeless sentinel of night. So stand like pine through calm and storm, With roots both delicate and warm, For in t...
