Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam,

An ancient pine recounts a dream

Of whispered tales through rustling boughs

That time itself could not arouse.

A traveler paused in twilight’s hue

To hear what only pines construe -

How mountains wear their robes of mist,

Why stars in silent paths persist.

Two centuries of wind and snow

Had carved the stories it would show,

Yet in its needles’ gentle sigh

Lived all the truth beneath the sky.

The man departed with the dawn,

But carried wisdom newly drawn

From conversations never spoken,

In nature’s lexicon unbroken.

Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam,

An ancient pine recounts a dream

Of whispered tales through rustling boughs

That time itself could not arouse.

A traveler paused in twilight’s hue

To hear what only pines construe -

How mountains wear their robes of mist,

Why stars in silent paths persist.

Two centuries of wind and snow

Had carved the stories it would show,

Yet in its needles’ gentle sigh

Lived all the truth beneath the sky.

The man departed with the dawn,

But carried wisdom newly drawn

From conversations never spoken,

In nature’s lexicon unbroken.