A lonely willow bends by the silent stream, Its branches trace the water like a dream. A traveler rests beneath its gentle shade, And hears the rustling leaves tell tales of time decayed. They speak of lovers’ vows in spring’s soft light, Of warriors’ farewells on a starless night. Each leaf a page from ages long since passed, Echoing sighs that in the breeze still last. The wind carries old secrets, soft and low, Of joy and sorrow that the tree still knows. Though seasons change and generati...
