Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, Where silent mountains guard the stream, A lone pine whispers ancient tales Through rustling boughs and shifting gales. Once wandered there a scholar wise, With weary heart and heavy eyes, Who sought the voice within the wind— A truth that nature kept confined. He heard the pines recount the years: Of joy and sorrow, hopes and fears, How seasons change yet roots hold fast, How brief our light against the vast. And in that murmur, deep and low, He found th...
