A lonely willow stands by the lake, Its branches sway with each breath they take. A traveler rests beneath its shade, Recalling choices he has made. Leaves murmur tales of days long past, Of friendships forged and shadows cast. The wind carries a mournful sigh, As distant clouds drift through the sky. He dreams of roads he left behind, The broken bonds and words unkind. Yet in the rustling green above, He hears a whisper: “Still, you’re loved.” The sun now dips in golden hue, Renewing strengt...
