A lonely willow by the river bends, Its branches tracing stories without ends. A traveler paused beneath its shade one day, To let the weary miles just slip away. He heard a murmur in the rustling leaves, A tale of joy and sorrow it bereaves. Of lovers’ promises in moonlight made, And dreams that like the morning mist did fade. The wind blew soft, the story drifted by, A silent tear welled in the traveler’s eye. For in the willow’s whisper, he could see His own lost hopes reflected silently. ...
