A tale unfolds where moonlight spills, of an ancient tree on silent hills. Its leaves like silver secrets keep, while weary travelers pause to sleep. Beneath its boughs, a promise made, in dappled light and cooling shade. Two souls who met by fortune’s chance, shared dreams in fleeting, moonlit dance. They carved their names upon the bark, a fleeting spark against the dark. Years may pass and storms may blow, yet still the willow seems to know. The echo of that summer night, when hearts were ...
