Beneath the boughs where shadows play, A whispered tale of yesterday. The moonlit path, a silver thread, Where dreams and waking thoughts are wed. Two lovers met by autumn’s grace, With fleeting time etched on each face. Their promises like fallen leaves, Now carried on the evening breeze. The ancient pines still stand and sigh, As seasons pass and years go by. Their rustling song repeats the lore— Of hearts that stay though part no more.
