Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, Where silent mountains guard the stream, A lonely pine begins to sing Of ancient dreams on weary wing. Its needles trace the stars above With tales of loss and endless love, While winds carry through misty vales The echo of forgotten sails. One traveler pauses in the night, Hearing the tree’s gentle plight— A song of seasons come and gone, Of broken chains and dawns newborn. He sits awhile in quiet grace, Finding his own heart in this place, Then journeys...
