Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, An ancient pine recounts a dream Of whispered tales through rustling boughs That time itself cannot arouse. A traveler paused in twilight’s hue To hear what only pines construe— How mountains wear their robes of mist, Why stars by midnight’s hand are kissed. The wind-carved verses, old and deep, Sway secrets that the glaciers keep, While cones like forgotten letters lay Where fox and shadow come to play. Now every needle holds a rhyme That transcends the ...

Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, An ancient pine recounts a dream Of whispered tales through rustling boughs That time itself cannot arouse. A traveler paused in twilight’s hue To hear what only pines construe— How mountains wear their robes of mist, Why stars by midnight’s hand are kissed. The wind-carved verses, old and deep, Sway secrets that the glaciers keep, While cones like forgotten letters lay Where fox and shadow come to play. Now every needle holds a rhyme That transcends the ...