A tale unfolds where shadows play, Beneath the willow’s gentle sway. Its leaves like secrets, soft they fall, A silent dance to nature’s call. An old man sits with silvered hair, And memories float upon the air. He speaks of love and days long past, Of hopes that forever last. The wind carries his whispered words, Like songs of melancholy birds. Each branch a story, old and deep, Guardians of promises they keep. So listen close when willows sigh, For truths in their rustling lie. In every rus...
