Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, An ancient pinewood tells a dream. Its needles trace on forest floor What time and memory restore. A traveler paused at eventide Where shadow and the light divide. He heard a voice among the boughs— Not wind, but words from long-lost vows. “Two lovers met where branches twine, She gave her hand, he swore the sign. They carved their names in bark now old, A story through the centuries told.” The moonbeams danced like ghosts that night, Weaving the threads ...
