A tale unfolds where moonlight spills, of a willow tree on silent hills. Its leaves once danced in vibrant green, the loveliest sight ever seen. But seasons turned and winds grew cold, a story in its bark it told. An old man sat beneath its shade, with memories that would not fade. He spoke of love and days long past, of joys he thought would always last. The willow listened, branch and limb, and softly sang a mournful hymn. Yet in the dawn, with golden light, the tree stood brave and ever br...
