A lonely willow bends by the silent stream,

Its leaves tell tales in the moon’s gentle gleam.

An old man sits beneath its sweeping shade,

Recalling youth and promises he made.

He speaks of love that bloomed in spring’s warm light,

Of whispered vows on a midsummer night.

The branches sigh with stories old and deep,

As memories awake from their long sleep.

Now silver hairs replace what once was brown,

Yet peace arrives as stars begin to crown.

The willow guards what time cannot erase—

A lifetime written on nature’s quiet face.