Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, An ancient pinewood stands in dream. Its needled boughs, with wisdom deep, Guard secrets that the mountains keep. A traveler paused at eventide, Where forest shadows gently hide. He heard a murmur, faint and low— A whispered tale from long ago. Of lovers’ vows ‘neath boughs entwined, Of courage forged in troubled mind. Each rustling branch, a page unturned, Of lessons life had slowly learned. The wind sang through the towering trees, Carrying stories on t...
