A lonely willow stands by the lake, Its branches trembling with each breath they take. A traveler rests beneath its shade, Hearing tales the rustling leaves conveyed. Of moonlit nights and lovers’ vows, Of passing years and furrowed brows. The wind composes verses old, In echoes of a story told. Seasons change, the roots run deep, Guarding secrets the waters keep. A silent poet, weathered and wise, With ancient dreams in its sighs.
