Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam,

An ancient pinewood tells a dream.

Of whispered tales through rustling boughs,

And timeless vows the wind allows.

A traveler paused in still delight,

To hear the murmurs of the night.

Each needle stirred with stories old—

Of winters harsh and summers gold.

The forest’s breath, a lulling song,

Carried mysteries along.

Of lovers’ sighs in twilight deep,

And promises the mountains keep.

No moral ends this gentle rhyme,

Just echoes from the heart of time.

Where pines still guard their secret lore—

And wait for souls to hear once more.

Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam,

An ancient pinewood tells a dream.

Of whispered tales through rustling boughs,

And timeless vows the wind allows.

A traveler paused in still delight,

To hear the murmurs of the night.

Each needle stirred with stories old—

Of winters harsh and summers gold.

The forest’s breath, a lulling song,

Carried mysteries along.

Of lovers’ sighs in twilight deep,

And promises the mountains keep.

No moral ends this gentle rhyme,

Just echoes from the heart of time.

Where pines still guard their secret lore—

And wait for souls to hear once more.