Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam,

An ancient pine recalls a dream

Of whispered tales through rustling boughs

That time itself could not arouse.

A traveler once in twilight’s hue

Heard branches murmur something true -

How mountains wear their scars with grace

And rivers find their resting place.

Now every needle holds the sound

Of secrets buried in the ground,

Where roots still keep the memory

Of all that was and yet will be.

Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam,

An ancient pine recalls a dream

Of whispered tales through rustling boughs

That time itself could not arouse.

A traveler once in twilight’s hue

Heard branches murmur something true -

How mountains wear their scars with grace

And rivers find their resting place.

Now every needle holds the sound

Of secrets buried in the ground,

Where roots still keep the memory

Of all that was and yet will be.