Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam,

An ancient pine shares whispered dreams.

Its needles trace tales on the breeze—

Of mountains old and timeless seas.

A traveler pauses in the night,

Hears branches weave forgotten light.

No moral hides in nature’s art,

Just quiet peace to still the heart.

Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam,

An ancient pine shares whispered dreams.

Its needles trace tales on the breeze—

Of mountains old and timeless seas.

A traveler pauses in the night,

Hears branches weave forgotten light.

No moral hides in nature’s art,

Just quiet peace to still the heart.