Whispering Pines

In the quiet woods they stand, Tall sentinels of the land, Whispering secrets of the breeze, Telling tales of ancient trees.

Beneath their boughs, the shadows play, Where sunlight dances, bright and gay, Nature’s choir, a serenade, In every leaf, a lush cascade.

Their emerald needles pierce the sky, As dreams of wanderers drift by, The scent of pine, a fragrant muse, In this haven, we choose to lose.

• Anna Maria Møller