A lonely willow by the river bends, Its branches tracing stories without ends. A traveler paused beneath its shaded grace, And saw faint words carved deep upon its face— ”The wind may change, but roots remember home.” He sat and listened as the leaves took flight, Weaving old tales into the softening light. Of lovers meeting there in spring’s warm breeze, Of soldiers finding solace ‘neath these trees, And children laughing, dancing circles round— Their echoes lingering without a sound. The su...
