Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, An ancient pinewood shares a dream. Its boughs like wise men’s arms extend, Where feathered minstrels hymns suspend. Through needle-carpeted pathways deep, Guardians of mountain secrets sleep. Their rings count centuries of snow, Watching empires rise and go. A breeze composes forest songs - The timeless truth where life belongs. No mortal hands could ever trace This sanctified, untamed space.

Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, An ancient pinewood shares a dream. Its boughs like wise men’s arms extend, Where feathered minstrels hymns suspend. Through needle-carpeted pathways deep, Guardians of mountain secrets sleep. Their rings count centuries of snow, Watching empires rise and go. A breeze composes forest songs - The timeless truth where life belongs. No mortal hands could ever trace This sanctified, untamed space.