Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, Where silent mountains guard the stream, A lonely pine begins to sing Of ancient dreams on rustling wing. Two travelers pause amidst the snow, Hearing tales from long ago— How love once bloomed in winter’s heart, Then chose to die before to part. Now needles dance in cold night air, Weaving hope from deep despair, Whispering through the ages still: “Endure the dark, embrace the hill.” The wind carries the song afar, Beyond the first pale evening star, A t...
