Beneath the silver moonlight’s gentle gleam, Two ancient pine trees stand beside a stream. Their branches weave a tapestry of grace, As night’s cool breeze embraces this still place. One tree recalls the songs of springtime’s birth, When laughter echoed ‘cross the waking earth. The other holds the winter’s frosty art, With snowflakes nesting in its weathered heart. Through seasons turning, rooted side by side, They share the secrets that the forests hide. Their whispered tales dance on the ev...
