Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, An ancient pine recounts a dream. Of whispered tales through rustling boughs, Where time itself seems to pause. A traveler rests against its bark, Hearing echoes in the dark. Of lovers’ vows and warriors’ cries, Beneath these ever-watchful skies. The wind composes melodies, That drift through sleeping centuries. Each needle holds a story’s thread, Where living and remembered blend. Tonight the tree shares secrets deep, While weary worlds are asleep. Its b...