By the old stone bridge, a willow tree sighs, Its branches tracing patterns in the sky. A traveler pauses where two pathways meet, Hearing whispers beneath his weary feet. Leaves tell tales of moonlit vows exchanged, Of seasons turned and destinies rearranged. One thread of silver in its bark remains— A lover’s knot from forgotten rains. He carves no name upon the ancient trunk, But drinks the silence from a mossy cup, Knowing some stories need not be spoken, When a willow guards what time ha...
