Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, Where silent mountains guard the stream, A lonely pine recalls old dreams Of whispered winds and starlit beams. Once young lovers carved their names, Fueling hope’s eternal flames, Now time has turned their hearts to dust, Yet roots still hold what memories trust. The seasons pass in quiet grace, Each ring a mark of time’s embrace, Still standing tall through storm and snow, The pine knows truths we’ll never know.
