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 old trees never rue. Of lovers’ vows in spring’s embrace, And eagles soaring through endless space. Its needles wrote on forest floor, Secrets that nature long did store. Till dawn approached with gentle light, And silenced conversations of the night. Now all who pass with listening ear, May cat...
