A lonely willow stands by the lake, Its branches sway with each breath they take. An old man sits in its shade to rest, With a weathered book upon his chest. He reads of lands both far and wide, Of oceans crossed and mountains high. The leaves above hum ancient songs, Of forgotten rights and timeless wrongs. A child approaches, quiet and shy, With curious gaze and wondering eye. “Grandpa,” she asks, “what do you see?” “In stories, love, and memory.” He shows her tales of knights so bold, Of d...
