Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, An ancient pine recalls a stream Where laughing children once did play Through long-forgotten summer days. Its needles murmur tales untold Of lovers’ vows and warriors bold, Of whispered secrets on the breeze That rustle through its memory. The seasons turn, the years take flight, Yet standing in the tranquil night, It keeps the stories in its bark— A living parchment in the dark. Each ring contains a century’s sigh, Beneath the ever-changing sky.

Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, An ancient pine recalls a stream Where laughing children once did play Through long-forgotten summer days. Its needles murmur tales untold Of lovers’ vows and warriors bold, Of whispered secrets on the breeze That rustle through its memory. The seasons turn, the years take flight, Yet standing in the tranquil night, It keeps the stories in its bark— A living parchment in the dark. Each ring contains a century’s sigh, Beneath the ever-changing sky.