Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, An ancient pine recounts a dream. Of whispered tales through ages past, Where shadows blend and memories last. A traveler paused to hear its sigh, As stars began to dot the sky. The tree spoke of a love long gone, Two hearts that met at early dawn. They carved their names upon its bark, A fleeting spark in darkness stark. Though seasons turned and years flew by, The pine still holds their longing cry. Now wanderers who pass this way May hear its branches ...
