Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam,

An ancient pine recounts a dream.

Of whispered tales through rustling boughs,

Where time herself briefly allows.

A traveler paused in twilight’s hue,

To hear what only pines construe.

Of mountains old and rivers deep,

Secrets the winds in confidence keep.

Two centuries passed in one night’s span,

As stars above the story ran.

When dawn approached with gentle light,

Both tree and man were bathed in bright.

The wanderer left with quieter soul,

Having found what makes the broken whole.

Now when the evening breezes sigh,

You’ll hear their shared lullaby.

Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam,

An ancient pine recounts a dream.

Of whispered tales through rustling boughs,

Where time herself briefly allows.

A traveler paused in twilight’s hue,

To hear what only pines construe.

Of mountains old and rivers deep,

Secrets the winds in confidence keep.

Two centuries passed in one night’s span,

As stars above the story ran.

When dawn approached with gentle light,

Both tree and man were bathed in bright.

The wanderer left with quieter soul,

Having found what makes the broken whole.

Now when the evening breezes sigh,

You’ll hear their shared lullaby.