Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, An ancient pine shares whispered dreams. Its needles trace tales on the breeze— Of mountain paths and frozen seas. A traveler pauses, leans his ear, To catch the stories, old and clear. The tree recalls a thousand years: Joyful laughter, silent tears. One tale tells of a maiden’s vow Beneath these boughs, then and now. Another sings of wars long past, Where shadows of memories cast. The wind carries these fragments bright, Through starry realms and endles...
