Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, Where silent mountains guard the stream, A lonely pine begins to sing Of ancient dreams on rustling wing. Two travelers pause in darkening wood, Hearing the voice where none yet stood, They trace the sound through mist and stone To find a truth long left unknown. The tree recalls a promise made When stars above their vows displayed, Now through the wind it breathes the tale To mend a bond that once grew frail. By dawn’s first light, hands join anew As fad...
