Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, Two ancient pines share a silent dream. Their branches weave through mist and time, Guardians of a sacred rhyme. They’ve seen empires rise and fall, Heard the distant shepherd’s call. Whispering secrets to the breeze, Through winter’s frost and autumn’s ease. One tells of mountains clad in snow, The other of rivers’ endless flow. Their roots dig deep in earth’s embrace, Keeping nature’s steady pace. Now hikers pause to hear their song, A melody that’s old...