Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, Two ancient pines share whispered dreams. Their branches weave through misted air, With secrets only mountains bear. One tells of seasons long since passed, Of winters harsh and shadows cast. The other hums a summer tune, Beneath the sun’s relentless noon. A traveler pauses on the trail, Hears their quiet forest tale. No moral told, no lesson grand— Just peace upon the silent land.
