Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, An ancient pine shares secret dreams. Its needles trace the stars above, While whispering tales of timeless love. A traveler pauses in the night, Hearing echoes of pure light. The wind composes melodies, That drift through sleeping centuries. One cone falls where mosses grow, Holding truths we’ll never know. Dawn arrives with gentle grace— Leaving magic in this place.

Beneath the moon’s soft silver gleam, An ancient pine shares secret dreams. Its needles trace the stars above, While whispering tales of timeless love. A traveler pauses in the night, Hearing echoes of pure light. The wind composes melodies, That drift through sleeping centuries. One cone falls where mosses grow, Holding truths we’ll never know. Dawn arrives with gentle grace— Leaving magic in this place.