By the old stone bridge, a willow tree sighs, Its branches tracing patterns in the skies. A traveler pauses, weary and alone, Hearing whispers in the wind’s soft moan. Leaves rustle tales of ages long since past, Of lovers’ vows that forever last, Of wars that raged and peace that fell like dew, Of dreams that fled as mornings broke anew. He sits beneath the gentle, swaying shade, Where light and shadow dance in green cascade, And finds in nature’s quiet, constant art, A solace for his restle...