A lone willow bends by the silent river, Its branches tracing secrets on the water’s glass. Once, a poet paused here, his heart a-quiver, Penning verses of love and moments that pass. Years swept by like autumn leaves in the wind, Yet the tree remembers his whispered sigh. Now lovers meet where his dreams were thinned, Beneath the boughs that touch the sky. They speak of futures bright and fears unknown, As the willow listens, steadfast and deep. Its roots hold stories in every grown, Guardin...
