Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, An ancient pinewood tells a dream. Its needles trace on forest floor What time and memory restore. A traveler paused at eventide Where shadows and truths coincide. He heard the murmurs in the breeze— Not one alone, but centuries. Of lovers’ vows in spring’s embrace, Of warriors’ slow, returning pace, Of ink-stained poets who would read Their verses to the rustling reed. The wind moved on, the man moved too, But left with perspectives made new. For every w...

Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, An ancient pinewood tells a dream. Its needles trace on forest floor What time and memory restore. A traveler paused at eventide Where shadows and truths coincide. He heard the murmurs in the breeze— Not one alone, but centuries. Of lovers’ vows in spring’s embrace, Of warriors’ slow, returning pace, Of ink-stained poets who would read Their verses to the rustling reed. The wind moved on, the man moved too, But left with perspectives made new. For every w...