Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, An ancient pine recalls a dream Of whispered tales through rustling boughs, Of timeless vows and solemn vows. A traveler paused one winter’s night, His lantern casting fragile light, He heard the tree in whispered tone Recite the seeds that it had sown. “Three centuries have graced my bark, I’ve witnessed dawn and evening dark, Sheltered birds in branches high, Watched generations live and die.” The wind then carried through the air A melody both rare and...
