Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, Ancient pines whisper a forgotten dream. Their needles trace tales on the breeze, Of mountain spirits and timeless seas. A traveler pauses, breath held still, As boughs share secrets old and chill. “Seek not the end,” the rustlings sigh, “For journeys bloom ‘neath open sky.” One star descends, a fleeting grace, To kiss the woods in light’s embrace. Dawn waits beyond the darkened hill— The pines keep whispering, and always will.

Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, Ancient pines whisper a forgotten dream. Their needles trace tales on the breeze, Of mountain spirits and timeless seas. A traveler pauses, breath held still, As boughs share secrets old and chill. “Seek not the end,” the rustlings sigh, “For journeys bloom ‘neath open sky.” One star descends, a fleeting grace, To kiss the woods in light’s embrace. Dawn waits beyond the darkened hill— The pines keep whispering, and always will.