Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, Where silent waters gently flow, A lonely pine stands by the stream, Whispering tales of long ago. It speaks of travelers’ weary feet, Of lovers’ vows in twilight made, Of seasons changing, bitter-sweet, And memories that never fade. The wind composes ancient songs Through needled branches, dark and deep, While time, relentless, moves along— Yet some old secrets pine trees keep. Now rest your head and you might hear A murmured truth, both strange and clea...

Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, Where silent waters gently flow, A lonely pine stands by the stream, Whispering tales of long ago. It speaks of travelers’ weary feet, Of lovers’ vows in twilight made, Of seasons changing, bitter-sweet, And memories that never fade. The wind composes ancient songs Through needled branches, dark and deep, While time, relentless, moves along— Yet some old secrets pine trees keep. Now rest your head and you might hear A murmured truth, both strange and clea...