Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, Where silent mountains guard the stream, A lone pine whispers ancient tales Of winter’s bite and summer gales. Two travelers on a dusty road, Bearing a shared but heavy load, Found shelter ‘neath its needled bough And made a fleeting solemn vow. They spoke of journeys yet to come, Of beating drum and distant hum, Then parted ways at break of day— One went east, one west, away. The pine still stands, its branches bare, Holding that memory in the air, A tes...
