A lonely willow stands by the lake, Its branches sway with each breath they take. An old man sits in its shade to rest, With memories blooming inside his chest. He recalls a youth full of light and cheer, And summers that stretched from year to year. Now leaves fall gently, gold and brown, Like whispered secrets floating down. Though time may pass and seasons turn, The fire of memory still will burn. In the quiet shade, he finds his grace— A gentle smile upon his face.
