Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam,

Ancient pines whisper a forgotten dream.

Their branches trace tales on the night,

Of wandering stars and timeless light.

A stream hums melodies low and deep,

Guarding secrets the mountains keep.

Petals drift where memories sleep,

In hushed woods, mysteries seep.

No need for grandeur—stillness sings,

Through every root and rustling wing.

Here, peace blooms like a quiet thing,

Bound to earth, yet taking wing.

Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam,

Ancient pines whisper a forgotten dream.

Their branches trace tales on the night,

Of wandering stars and timeless light.

A stream hums melodies low and deep,

Guarding secrets the mountains keep.

Petals drift where memories sleep,

In hushed woods, mysteries seep.

No need for grandeur—stillness sings,

Through every root and rustling wing.

Here, peace blooms like a quiet thing,

Bound to earth, yet taking wing.