Beneath the silver moon’s gentle glow, Ancient pines share tales of long ago. Their needles weave a timeless song, Of seasons short and winters long. A traveler rests against the bark, Listening to the forest’s dark, Hearing whispers in the breeze, Through rustling, ancient mysteries. The wind carries a sage’s verse, Of joy and sorrow, bliss and curse, How mountains stand while rivers flee, And all returns to harmony. Now dawn arrives with gold and rose, The silent wisdom nature shows, In eve...
