Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, An ancient pine recalls a stream Where laughing children once did play, Now silent in the fading day. A traveler rests against its bark, Hearing whispers in the dark Of lovers’ vows and warriors’ tales Carried on the mountain gales. Needles fall like memories deep, Guarding secrets forests keep— How generations come and pass Through shadows on the emerald grass. Yet standing tall through wind and time, It writes its legacy in rhyme, A living verse of stre...
