A lone willow bends by the silent river, Its branches tracing secrets on the water’s skin. An old fisherman sits, mending his net with shivering hands, Whistling a tune forgotten by the wind. Moonlight spills like silver dust upon the waves, Where two swans glide, dreams intertwined. They say the tree once witnessed lovers part— Their promises carried away by the autumn tide. Now only echoes linger in the hollow reeds, A whispered verse half-sung, half-sighed. Yet in the dawn, the willow stan...
