A lonely willow bends by the silent stream, Its leaves tell tales in the moon’s gentle gleam. Of lovers’ vows and secrets softly spoken, Under branches weathered, worn and broken. A traveler rests, hearing whispers old, Of silver memories the tree does hold. The wind carries stories through the night, Woven with starlight, shimmering bright. Time flows on like the water below, Yet the willow stands, through sun and snow. Its rustling voice a timeless rhyme, Echoing beyond the bounds of time.
