A tale unfolds where ancient boughs bend low, Whispering secrets only old trees know. By the silent river, under moon’s soft gleam, A fisherman’s lantern casts a wandering beam. He mends his net with hands both rough and wise, While stars like scattered dreams adorn the skies. “Come, rest awhile,” the willow seems to sigh, “Let the world’s worries in my shadow lie.” Three hundred years it stood through wind and rain, Sheltering joy and solace, grief and pain. Its leaves would dance with every...
