Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam,

An ancient pine recalls a stream

Where laughter danced on sunlit stones

And joy etched hearts in tender tones.

Through seasons turned to dust and gold,

Its whispered tales are never old—

Of lovers’ vows in spring’s embrace,

Of winter’s still, uncharted space.

One wandering soul now pauses near

To trace the bark, to shed a tear,

For in its grooves, time’s truth appears:

Both sorrows fade and hope perseveres.

The wind breathes through the needled bough

A promise all must learn somehow—

That roots run deep where light appears,

And peace is found beyond the years.