A lonely willow bends by the silent stream, Its branches trace the water’s gentle gleam. It holds a tale of love from ages past, A secret in its leaves, forever cast. A poet came with sorrow in his heart, And from his pain, he vowed ne’er to part. He carved his verse upon the ancient bark, A light that shimmered through the coming dark. Now travelers pause to hear the rustling sigh, As breezes weave the words that never die. They speak of hope that springs from deep despair, A whispered wisdo...
