A tale unfolds where shadows play, beneath the willow’s gentle sway. Its leaves like secrets, soft and deep, guard promises the roots still keep. An old man once, with silver hair, would sit and breathe the evening air. He spoke of love and times long past, of friendships built to forever last. The wind would carry his low sigh, as stars began to dot the sky. Though years have passed, and he is gone, the willow’s whisper still lives on. In every rustle, calm and clear, his voice remains for t...
