Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, An ancient pine stands by the stream. Its needles murmur tales of old— Of lovers’ vows and courage bold. A traveler paused one autumn night, Heard branches sigh with wisdom’s light. “Let go what was, embrace what may, Dawn always follows night’s dark gray.” The wind carried the timeless song— How fragile hearts grow wise and strong. He walked away with lighter stride, The whispering pines his gentle guide.
